Starkweather Quanta cowritten with Scully3776
by Spookykat
Summary: A time traveler swaps souls with Doggett to stop a lawyer from being killed. Sequel to Future Past Perfect and Starkweather: Introitus on Gossamer, but reading those fics is not necessary to understand this story.
1. Oh Boy!

TITLE: Starkweather: Quanta  
  
AUTHORS: Scully3776 and Spookykat  
  
RATED: R for strong language and explicit content  
  
ARCHIVED: With permission.  
  
KEYWORDS: Crossover, MSR, New Character,  
  
Mulder/Scully/Doggett Friendship, The Lone Gunmen, CSM,  
  
Marita Corruvabias, Mulder/Scully/Skinner Friendship,  
  
Post S8  
  
Spoilers: S8 (Especially Vienen)  
  
Summary: A male version of Scully invented a time  
  
machine that allows him to swap souls with Doggett to  
  
change history for the better. The history he needs to  
  
change: The murder in the county jail of the new Deputy  
  
Mayor of Washington DC at the hands of Billy Miles. How  
  
will he do it? With the help of the Gunmen and a guide  
  
from the future only he can see and hear.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Fox, Chris Carter, and 1013 productions, if  
  
you wish to see your creations, Agent Dana Scully,  
  
Deputy Mayor Fox Mulder, Monica Reyes, and John Doggett,  
  
Luke John Doggett, Melvin Frohike, Langly, John Byers,  
  
AD Walter Skinner, CBG Spender, Marita Corruvabias,  
  
Deputy Director Alvin Kersh, Billy Miles and your  
  
brainchild "The X-Files" again, I suggest you pay close  
  
attention. Scully3776 and her creations Admiral Jeremy  
  
Bailey, Mayor Thomas Swanson, Jerilyn Bailey  
  
Starkweather and Ben Starkweather, Senator Lynn Bailey,  
  
J. Stephen Cello III, and various as sundry minor  
  
characters with Spookykat's creations, Davis Justin Leo,  
  
Ana Sedai, Peter Sedai, Lilly Stratford, Manuel Ibarra  
  
will descend upon 1013 productions in Los Angeles with  
  
NBC, Belesarius, and Donald P. Belesarius' characters,  
  
Dr. Sam Becket and Al Calivici. A hostile overthrow of  
  
sporks and flamethrowers will ensue if incompliant to  
  
our demandsâ€"don't worry, they are simple and few.  
  
1) Accommodations in Apt. 42 (Lord knows you won't be  
  
needing that anymore sniff! We've even worked out  
  
sleeping arrangements.)  
  
2) Season-long writing contracts with 1013.  
  
3) A weekly stipend sufficient for groceries, gas,  
  
transportation, and long distance service.  
  
4)Both authors supplied with autographed copies of all  
  
the DVD's as they become available on the market  
  
You have been warned.  
  
Prologue:  
  
***********  
  
While theorizing that one could time travel in his own  
  
lifetime, Dr. Sam Becket stepped into the Quantum Leap  
  
accellorator, and vanished. He awoke to find himself leaping  
  
from life to life, putting right what once went wrong.  
  
His only guide on this journey is Al, a hologram  
  
from the future that only Sam can see and  
  
hear, and leaps from life to life, striving to put right what  
  
once went wrong hoping that each time his next leap will be the  
  
leap home.  
  
*************************************************  
  
June 24, 2011; 7:34 AM  
  
Roswell NM, Area51  
  
Project Quantum Leap Headquarters  
  
************************************  
  
John Doggett felt like he had just gotten over a very  
  
severe case of vertigo.  
  
He leapt up from the glass table that he hadn't realized  
  
till now that he was lying on, not even taking notice of  
  
the white spandex he was donning from head to toe that was  
  
a far cry from his understated jacket-and-tie FBI attire.  
  
"Luke!" The little boy he lost, unfortunately was one of  
  
the few things his Swiss-Cheezed memory could remember.  
  
"Anybody here!" He shouted in the half Brooklyn/half  
  
Southern accent that had been perfected over the years with  
  
the NYPD.  
  
Upon not getting any response he studied his surroundings  
  
the way his finely tuned detective's instincts taught him  
  
to. Looking around, he saw that he was in a spacious room  
  
with undecorated stark walls, furnished with nothing more  
  
than a couch, a desk, and an observation table. From the  
  
sparce furnishings,Doggett was doubtless that this place  
  
was a government-funded facility. Slowly, his memory was  
  
returning to him. He was an FBI Agent in the x-files  
  
division for a little more than a year now. He raked his  
  
hand through his hair, and was alarmed not to find his own  
  
thin curls, but straight hairâ€"hair that seemed to be longer  
  
than his usual length. "What kinda party trick is this?"  
  
He mumbled, then looked to the wall opposite a door, and  
  
jumped at the reflection that wasn't his own. "Some kind  
  
of hypnotic suggestion could enduce this." He explained.  
  
"Some kind of hallucinogenic drug, maybe. Whatever the  
  
fuck it is, helluva party trick." The only person he knew  
  
who could rig up this sorta set-up...  
  
"Muldah! Come on now!" Doggett shouted. "I gotta get back!  
  
When she finds out about the case, the shit's gonna hit the fan!"  
  
He yelled, and started to head for the only visible door  
  
next to the observation window.  
  
Just then, a short, dark-eyed man with a slight build,  
  
dark, coily hair that was graying at the temples entered  
  
the room, and blocked his way. Doggett had no idea who the  
  
man was, but from the expression on the man's face, the man  
  
obviously knew him.  
  
"Who are you? What the hell kinda stunt are you trying to  
  
pull? Did Mulder put you up to this?" Doggett demanded as  
  
if it was one fell question. "Yes, I know it was Mulder."  
  
Doggett answered the man's surprised reaction, "he's the only  
  
one who would find out where to get a full-body condom costume."  
  
"Take it easy" Under his breath, the man mumbled "I shudda  
  
started a project pool on that question." Despite the man's  
  
garish ensemble--this one a glittering silver jacket and  
  
pants underneath a cranberry red top with a thin black tie  
  
and silver matching shoes--the man's demeanor and steady  
  
gaze bespoke authority and seriousness.  
  
"Sir, if you don't mind sayin'," Doggett was one of those  
  
rare people who had a forcefull drawl, "I'd like to know  
  
what's going on. Am I a prisoner here?"  
  
"No, you're not a prisoner." The man replied frankly.  
  
"Then give me my clothes and I'll be on my way. I have  
  
business to attend to." Doggett demanded, now visibly  
  
agitated.  
  
"So do we. Can you tell us your name?" The man persisted.  
  
"John Doggett. Can I go now?" Doggett huffed.  
  
"I wouldn't leave this room if I were you, Mr. Doggett."  
  
"Why the hell not?"  
  
"It's not what you think out there."  
  
"What's not what I think out there?" Doggett fumed, "Look,  
  
could you please get to the point, because I've got things  
  
to take care of."  
  
"What case were you referring to, Mr. Doggett?"  
  
"That information's classified, sir, leaked only on a need-  
  
to-know basis."  
  
"You are not helping your own situation at all by not  
  
trusting me, Mr. Doggett. I think you'll agree with me that  
  
we need to know. Now," the man restarted, "what sort of  
  
things do you need taken care of?"  
  
The man walked over to the desk and authoritatively sat  
  
down behind it, casually perusing the manila folder he came  
  
in with. He took an obstinate puff of the cigar he was  
  
carrying in his other hand and directed Doggett to the  
  
chair in front of the desk.  
  
"What is my own situation?" Doggett reverberated.  
  
"You tell us, Mr. Doggett."  
  
May 22, 2001  
  
Newberry, SC; County Morgue  
  
******************************  
  
The Leaper heard shots ring out from his host's gun, and  
  
subsequently heard a resounding thud.  
  
Then a dazzling blue light surrounded him.  
  
Oblivion overtook consciousness for what seemed like a  
  
few seconds. Time, to Leaper Dr. Sam Becket lately was  
  
quickly becoming a moot point. He didn't know if the  
  
duration of the oblivion was really a few seconds or if  
  
it was years sped up into a few seconds...or what the  
  
case was.  
  
However long the unawareness lasted, he next found  
  
himself in the form of whomever soul he had changed  
  
places with--leapt into--immediately yanked into the  
  
life he was supposed to change within the next few days.  
  
It was a small relief to him that, while he couldn't  
  
remember much of anything before he stepped into an  
  
accelerator, he could remember the leaps--the lives he  
  
had lived, and changed for the better. He could at least  
  
vicariously pretend he had some sort of past. As hard as  
  
he tried not to, it always embittered Sam a little that  
  
he never got to see his work finished. It made the  
  
physicist wish sometimes that he could have a life of  
  
his own, just once.  
  
But leaps like his most recent, into Special Agent Dana  
  
Scully, made all his work and grief worth it. He was  
  
part of something greater than himself. He wanted to  
  
help her and her partner Fox Mulder with their work, but  
  
he knew he had his own job. By Whateveritwas's design,  
  
he was pinballed into the next existence, usually never  
  
to see the work he had done.  
  
After the leap was over, Sam, as usual, was gone without  
  
either a momento or a trace of the lives he effected,  
  
and only in two cases had he actually seen his work  
  
after he leapt, primarily because most people only have  
  
one defining moment that effects their lives forever.  
  
Fox Mulder, he would be reminding himself later, was not  
  
most people.  
  
The disorientation and feeling of lostness and ambiguity  
  
was something he still hadn't gotten used to...no matter  
  
how often he leapt, which was generally in bizarre  
  
situations--if they weren't bizarre situations, they  
  
usually evolved into bizarre situations. Or at least  
  
situations that seemed bizarre to Sam. To the person  
  
whose life he had swapped souls with, the situation  
  
probably wasn't that bizarre.  
  
Sam felt as though he had constant vertigo. It was a  
  
small miracle that he hadn't completely destroyed a life  
  
from the first moment of the leap yet.  
  
This time, after the oblivion faded, and the circle of  
  
bright blue light subsided, and he got his bearings, Sam  
  
found himself in a strangely familiar hallway. He had  
  
been there before, but he couldn't quite place where he  
  
was. It was almost a since of dejavu, but not quite. The  
  
dimly lit hallway wasn't alien to him. He felt as though  
  
he needed no assistance in figuring out which office was  
  
his, but he didn't know why.  
  
In his confusion, lost in musings, he hadn't noticed a  
  
girl limping toward him with a hand bound in a cast. He  
  
was fishing out his keys when she stopped at a door,  
  
obviously waiting for something.  
  
He looked at the paper he was holding, and nearly  
  
spilled the coffee he was holding. It was the Washington  
  
Post sports section, and the date said June 16, 2001. He  
  
knew when he was, and where he was. Well...at least the  
  
region. The girl was still waiting at the door. She  
  
looked at him, and Sam, in his distraction, hadn't realized  
  
that she obviously knew who he was.  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry, Miss..." Sam read her nametag.  
  
"Starkweather"  
  
He said, immediately embarrassed. She wore an FBI tag  
  
bearing the name "Jerilyn Starkweather." He couldn't  
  
quite place it, but there was something familiar in her  
  
hazel eyes.  
  
"You ok, Papa? Did you forget your keys this morning?"  
  
"Uh...yeah...I...uh...must have." He dug around in his  
  
pocket. "Oh, wait, here we go. I feel like an idiot  
  
now." Not far from the bottom of the stack of keys was  
  
the number that matched the office door. He opened it,  
  
and followed the young woman in.  
  
He looked around the office he just entered, and  
  
followed her unconscious cues that told Sam that he  
  
belonged there, too. One look at the office  
  
told him immediately where he was. He knew exactly whose  
  
desk the one in the back belonged to. Piled high with  
  
files and an open packet of sunflower seeds with  
  
the "I Want to Believe" poster and about 22 pencils on  
  
the ceiling.  
  
I must have leapt into Mulder was Sam's first thought.  
  
Part of him was glad to be in familiar territory, the  
  
other part wondered what had happened to Mulder to need  
  
altering. He walked behind the desk, put the paper down,  
  
half-expecting Scully to come through the door at any  
  
minute  
  
The young woman was eyeing him quizzically, eyes  
  
averting from him to the desk next to his.  
  
"What on earth are you doing?"  
  
"I'm...uh...sitting at my desk. What do you think?"  
  
"That's...not your desk."  
  
She averted her eyes to the desk next to the one he had  
  
put the paper down on.  
  
"I--uh--forgot, is all."  
  
"Forgot? Are you ok?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm--uh...just a bit tired, is all." He glanced  
  
at her awkwardly, wondering what was going on, and  
  
cautiously moved over to the next desk, which was  
  
meticulously neat decorated only with a picture of a  
  
little boy with blond hair and striking blue eyes on it.  
  
At that moment, he noticed a familiar petite redhead  
  
open the door.  
  
"The results came back from the lab, definitely from the  
  
same species. Same properties, everything."  
  
He forgot at that split second that he was supposed to  
  
be pretending to be someone else, and rushed up to give  
  
her a warm greeting. It was really nice not having to  
  
guess at people's identities.  
  
Over Doggett's shoulder, Scully exchanged confused  
  
glances with Starkweather. Starkweather circled around  
  
her ear, and busied herself  
  
with work.  
  
"What was that for, Agent Doggett?"....  
  
"What was that for, Agent Doggett? You ok?"  
  
Doggett?! Who's Doggett?! Where's Mulder?!  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." He tried to stifle a chuckle when he  
  
remembered how that was Scully's choice phrase in those  
  
sort of situations.  
  
"Anyway, I just got the lab results back. Looks like  
  
it's the same species that was in South Carolina is the  
  
same species on the oil rig, and the same species from  
  
Scotland. Too bad the evidence is inadmissible."  
  
"Evidence?"  
  
"...of alien colonization?" Scully answered in question.  
  
"You ok Doggett?" Starkweather was saying, looking  
  
obviously irritated. "I'd expect this from the Deputy  
  
Mayor, but not you."  
  
"Alien colonization..." He mumbled, then again under his  
  
breath, "Oh boy!" 


	2. And it just keeps getting better and bet...

Out loud, Sam said to the young teenaged-looking woman.  
  
"The Deputy Mayor???"  
  
"That's Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder, the artist formerly  
  
known as Agent Fox Mulder," Al, as usual, appeared  
  
unannounced, scaring the bejesus out of Sam, as usual.  
  
"They've changed things a bit down in the dungeon." Al  
  
looked Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather up and down.  
  
"Man, what is this, "Bring Your Daughter to Work Day?""  
  
"What?" Sam said aloud.  
  
"Jesus, Doggett, what's with you?" Starkweather was openly  
  
staring at him, her feline eyes studying him, unnerving Sam  
  
greatly. "You'd think YOU were with Ben last night at  
  
Hooters drinking, not me."  
  
"Ben?"  
  
"Benjamin Starkweather, Al whacked his hand-held console.  
  
It squealed until it produced the information he needed.  
  
"That's her husband."  
  
"Husband?" Sam said incredulously.  
  
"Ahhh. I see we've graduated to multi-syllables, good job."  
  
Starkweather quipped. "I thought you were being the  
  
responsible agent, studying case files while doing  
  
laundry."  
  
"Sa ---am!" Al hissed. "Make an excuse, get to somewhere  
  
private so I can brief you before these G-women think  
  
you're completely loco."  
  
"Um, excuse me," Sam turned to leave.  
  
"Where are you going Agent Doggett?" Scully asked.  
  
"Um... the bathroom."  
  
"That's creative," Al groaned as the glowing door opened up  
  
behind him. He stepped inside, "Meet you in the john," he  
  
said before he disappeared.  
  
Sam smiled wanly at Scully and Starkweather and rushed out  
  
the door. Starkweather turned to Scully and said "My first  
  
day back after having the snot beat out of me and my  
  
partner has a major case of the weirds. Lovely."  
  
"Today is June 16, 2002, and you are..." Al whipped out the  
  
console, "FBI Special Agent John Doggett" Sam interjected, and  
  
looked in the mirror to see a man with copper hair, an  
  
honest, stern face with dazzling blue eyes. "I'm supposed  
  
to get Mulder back on the X-files."  
  
Al shook his head. Most of the time these days, Sam could  
  
figure out with relative ease who he was. Al's briefing  
  
lately was just one of those protocols. "Not quite."  
  
"So what is Do--am I doing back on the X-Files? I thought I  
  
changed history earlier. And what happened to Mulder?"  
  
"Hell if I know." Al shook his head, "Ziggy's a smart-ass computer,  
  
but she ain't no Einstein. As far as our researchers can tell, our  
  
project only goes as far as the human race. Mars...or  
  
wherever E.T. comes from...is just a little bit out of our  
  
district. As to what you're doing back in the X-Files, we  
  
dunno. Ziggy says all the cases are under Military lock and  
  
key." Al gawked "Military?" Then out in the air. "Goushie,  
  
you sure this is right?"  
  
"Why would the military have FBI cases?"  
  
"Who knows?" Al shrugged. "Apparently a few good men are  
  
taking a newfound interest in little green ones. As for  
  
Mulder..." Al punched a few buttons into the console, it  
  
flashed different colors and whirred, and Al's eyes  
  
widened.  
  
"They're gray" Sam couldn't help himself.  
  
"One leap on the x-files, and suddenly you're quoting  
  
Mulderisms. This is weird. Ziggy's got a death date on him  
  
about a year ago. Huh...musta been one of those clerical  
  
errors, or something. I guess he pissed the wrong people  
  
off down at the courthouse. Anyway, according to our FBI  
  
files, he bowed outta the FBI after an incident involving  
  
alien oil, and fills the Deputy Mayor position down at the  
  
courthouse."  
  
"Have you been able to get anything from this Doggett guy?"  
  
"No. He's more skeptical than Scully ever was when she was  
  
there. Remember that agent who paid us a visit your last  
  
leap?"  
  
Sam nodded. "That was him? Sam nodded toward the  
  
reflection. "Then why does he not know what's going on?"  
  
"He hasn't been there yet, at least to him. Remember?"  
  
"Any idea at all as to what I'm supposed to do here? Maybe  
  
the court records have something."  
  
"Let's see here..." Al punched a few buttons into the  
  
console, which lit up and squealed. "Hey! That's great!  
  
Scully's got a kid now! Her and Mulder must have been busy  
  
bunnies. I guess doctors can be wrong."  
  
"Anything on Starkweather?"  
  
"Ziggy says..."...again a punch of a few buttons  
  
"Starkweather the daughter of Admiral Bailey--I know that  
  
guy Sam. His wife's a Senator. He's a bit of a nutcase, but  
  
a nice guy. "She was something of a child prodigy, but  
  
she's 28, an ex-Airman, married to Ben Starkweather...works  
  
at Carter, Spangle and Adams law firm...and...uh oh! Is  
  
found dead in a few days...and *Mulder* is found--guilty--  
  
of his murder. Mulder?" Al sat there looking at the console  
  
making sure he hadn't read it wrong.  
  
"Mulder!" Sam gawked "That can't be right...he may piss  
  
people off, but I just don't see him murdering anyone."  
  
"I'm with you. Spooky spends too much energy hunting E.T.'s  
  
and being a horses ass to plan a murder."  
  
"Go see what you can find out from Doggett. I'll try and  
  
find out what I can from his partners."  
  
"You do that. Hang in there, Sam. I'll get back to you as  
  
soon as I find anything."  
  
Before Sam could say anything, Al was gone to see if the  
  
subject could offer any information.  
  
Assistant Director Skinner's Office  
  
June 16, 2001  
  
9:15 AM  
  
Starkweather let herself into Skinner's office without  
  
knocking. She didn't even acknowledge Skinner, so hot was  
  
her wrath. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she  
  
demanded her spouse.  
  
"Agent Starkweather," Skinner growled.  
  
"Jerilyn," Ben spoke calmly. "This is official business.  
  
Don't get your pantyhose in a wad."  
  
"Well, if this business if official, I strongly recommend  
  
you refrain from using inappropriate phrases and to address  
  
me with the respect a federal agent deserves, Counselor."  
  
Ben scowled. Jerilyn, self-proclaimed queen of nicknaming,  
  
ever since their dating days, had called him 'Counselor' as  
  
a term of endearment. Now, it sounded obscene.  
  
"For Christ's sake, Jerilyn," Ben leapt out of his seat and  
  
turned to face his wife, his swarthy, handsome face twisted  
  
in anger. "As usual, you're blowing this out of fucking  
  
proportion. I need that goddamned file to prove that the  
  
oil rig was in gross violation of the Environmental  
  
Protection Act. Without it, I'm dead in the water."  
  
"Other people are going to be dead if that file become  
  
public domain."  
  
"Jesus, Jerilyn!" Ben and Jerilyn were nose to nose now.  
  
"Will you lay off the "tough bitch FBI" crap! It's just  
  
another FBI file!"  
  
"The hell it is! It's not just another FBI file. It's an X-  
  
File. An extremely sensitive X-File, you dumb, arrogant  
  
shit!"  
  
Skinner had enough. "STARKWEATHER!" he snapped.  
  
Both Ben and Jerilyn faced him. "WHAT?" they snapped in  
  
unison.  
  
Skinner groaned and tossed his glasses on his desk. He  
  
rubbed his temples as he asked as nicely as his temper  
  
would allow, "Would you two sit down? I have questions I  
  
need answered before I decide if that information can be  
  
released or not."  
  
Like two bickering children pleading with their father,  
  
Starkweather and Starkweather overlapped each other:  
  
"Oh come on, Assistant Director! Sir you can not be  
  
seriously considering... That information CAN NOT be  
  
released!" Jerilyn cried.  
  
"Sir, with all due respect, I need those files! Several men  
  
were killed on that rig, many more lives are at stake. I  
  
need those files to close them down!"  
  
"SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!!!!!" Skinner roared.  
  
Meekly, husband and wife sat down.  
  
"Thank you." Skinner said civilly.  
  
Agent Starkweather," Skinner began. "Did you have any  
  
foreknowledge of your husband's involvement with this case  
  
against the oil company?"  
  
"Sir," Jerilyn struggled for control. "As of last night, I  
  
knew my husband was prosecuting an oil company for  
  
negligance. I had no idea that it was THIS oil company  
  
until you called me."  
  
"Is that true?" he asked Ben.  
  
"Absolutely." Ben agreed. "For the most part," he glowered  
  
at Jerilyn. "We keep our work separate from home life,  
  
since we both have issues of confidentially with our  
  
respected jobs."  
  
"Then how did you make the connection?"  
  
"Simple detective work, really," Ben said modestly.  
  
"Through my research I discovered that the sole survivors  
  
of the explosion was the former Agent Mulder and the  
  
current Agent John Doggett, who, as it so happens, is my  
  
wife's partner. I merely put two and two together."  
  
"And how will having this case file assist with your  
  
prosecution?"  
  
"After I thoroughly investigate the FBI's findings, I plan  
  
on subpoenaing Agent Doggett and Deputy Mayor Mulder to  
  
testify."  
  
"NO!" Jerilyn leapt out of her case. "Ben you can't!"  
  
"Agent Starkweather, you're out of line," Skinner growled.  
  
But once again, Skinner was ignored as Starkweather versus  
  
Starkweather, Round Two, ensued.  
  
"Jerilyn, they are the only ones who know what really  
  
happened out there!"  
  
"They risked their lives out there. Mulder lost his job  
  
because he was out there! Putting them on the stand,  
  
ordering them to reveal information that almost killed them  
  
once already would be potentially life-threatening to them,  
  
not mention that their careers would be ruined! Mulder can  
  
kiss being Deputy Mayor goodbye and Doggett would lose  
  
every chance he has of succeeding Skinner!"  
  
"Agent Starkweather, Mr. Starkweather..." Skinner tried  
  
futilely to retake the conversation.  
  
"But what about the lives lost on that rig! What about the  
  
biological hazard that's still floating around the debris  
  
out in the Gulf? Over thirty men are dead because of this  
  
company's irresponsibility plus all of the sea life that  
  
was destroyed? How can we honor their deaths if we can't  
  
bring their murderers to justice. Jerilyn, you told me once  
  
that it was your job to catch the bad guys and it was my  
  
job to put them away. Why are you fighting against me from  
  
doing my job? I thought you were after the truth?"  
  
"I am after the truth," Jerilyn fumed. "I'm fighting you  
  
because you have no fucking clue about the true nature of  
  
what happened out there! I read the file! Ben, you'd do  
  
more damage dragging Mulder and Doggett into this!" Jerilyn  
  
began pacing. "We don't know exactly what happened. But new  
  
information has been brought to light that WE need to  
  
investigate. This is so much bigger than you realize.  
  
"Agent Starkweather, sit down," Skinner stood up.  
  
"But the only thing solid we GOT on them is their  
  
environmental irresponsibility! It doesn't matter HOW we  
  
put them away, just as long as they go! Help me, Jerilyn."  
  
"I won't help you by condemning Doggett and Mulder to  
  
death."  
  
"I thought you hated Mulder."  
  
"Just because I don't like him doesn't mean I want him  
  
dead! Besides, he saved my sorry ass! Is that how you want  
  
to repay the man who rescued your wife? By making him a  
  
sitting duck? You make me sick."  
  
"Put a sock in it, Agent Starkweather!" Skinner yelled.  
  
Jerilyn finally shut up. "That's enough from you. You may  
  
return to work, agent." His voice was flint.  
  
Jerilyn said curtly. "Yes sir." She hissed at Ben, "This  
  
isn't over."  
  
"See you at home, pumpkin," Ben responded snidely.  
  
"Agent Starkweather, you are dismissed," Skinner barked  
  
like a drill sergeant. Jerilyn turned on her heel and left,  
  
even more enraged than before. "And you-" Skinner said to  
  
Ben as soon as Jerilyn shut the door. "-have no call to be  
  
invading my office, giving ME commands. Extradition order  
  
or not, I don't have to give you a damn thing if it  
  
endangers national security, especially after the way you  
  
just spoke to one of my top agents."  
  
"She's not just an agent, she's my wife."  
  
"All the more reason, you cocky little shit." Skinner said.  
  
"I don't give a damn who you work for or who you're married  
  
to. Bring all the court orders you want, I'll find a way to  
  
block them all, that is a promise."  
  
"Sir," Ben said. "If I win this case, Mulder's name is  
  
cleared and he can get reinstated, did you even think of  
  
that?"  
  
"I have no use for dead agents." Besides, after Mulder  
  
failing the fitness requirements when his mysterious  
  
ailments started up, there was no way Kersh was going to  
  
let him back in. But Skinner kept that to himself.  
  
Ben stood up. "Thank you for your time sir," he said  
  
curtly. "My wife spoke highly of you. She said you were a  
  
reasonable, sensible man."  
  
"I am a reasonable, sensible man. That's why your attempts  
  
to scare me won't work just like your attempts to butter me  
  
up with your marriage contacts didn't scare me earlier."  
  
"I will get that file."  
  
"Not if I have a say about it."  
  
"Actually," Ben said pleasantly, checking his watch. "After  
  
this interview, you probably don't. I have a ten-thirty  
  
appointment with Deputy Director Kersh. Have a good  
  
morning." And Ben took his leave.  
  
When Ben left, Skinner put his glasses on and dialed his  
  
phone. "The Deputy Mayor please."  
  
"May I ask who's calling?" A perky voice chirped.  
  
"Tell him it's Assistant Director Skinner and it's  
  
important."  
  
A minute passed before he heard the familiar sardonic  
  
greeting. "Hey Skin-man."  
  
"Mulder, what's your schedule like? We need to talk, we  
  
have a major problem."  
  
"Problems? At the FBI. No way."  
  
"Mulder, don't push my buttons today. I have legal papers  
  
in front of me ordering to release the oil rig X-File into  
  
public domain for a legal battle."  
  
"I have a City Council meeting at one. Give me a half hour  
  
to finish up some paperwork and phone calls and I'll be  
  
there."  
  
"Good," Skinner grunted, hung up, then picked up the phone  
  
and dialed again.  
  
"Scully."  
  
"Scully, I need to see you and Agent Doggett in my office  
  
in thirty minutes. We have a major situation on our hands."  
  
"Do we want to include Starkweather?"  
  
"No. Don't be late." He hung up on more time, then picked  
  
up one last time that morning to tell Kimberly to hold all  
  
calls.  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Skinner hung up the phone for good now. "Good God..."  
  
In Skinner's office, Sam sat next to Scully, completely  
  
bewildered. He still didn't know a thing about Doggett's  
  
life, except that once he had a little boy, but Sam didn't  
  
even know how the boy died. And now he had been rushed up  
  
to Skinner's office about a "situation."  
  
This leap just keeps getting better and better Sam  
  
groaned to himself as they waited for Mulder. Al, where  
  
are you? Help me out buddy he silently implored his  
  
holographic friend.  
  
Mulder burst through the door. "Sorry I'm late," he  
  
apologized breezily. "Traffic was a bitch."  
  
"Have a seat Mulder, I'll bring you all up to speed."  
  
Skinner said. Mulder eyed Sam, sitting next to Scully, for  
  
a minute before taking a seat. Skinner groaned. After the  
  
nice little domestic spat he witnessed between the  
  
Starkweathers, he had no desire to be a referee in a  
  
pissing contest between Doggett and Mulder.  
  
And of course, Sam had no idea why he received such a dirty  
  
look from Mulder. Now what did I do? Sam wondered.  
  
"Here's the situation, well, more of a clusterfuck."  
  
Skinner lapsed into his Marine-lingo. "Agent Starkweather's  
  
husband is prosecuting the oil rig company for  
  
environmental violations...  
  
What oil rig? Sam wondered. AL!!!!!!!  
  
"... He wants us to release the X-File, he wants to  
  
subpoena Mulder and Doggett. He's up in Kirsch's office  
  
right now, pleading his case."  
  
Scully folded her hands as if in prayer. Sam leaned back  
  
into the sofa and tried to piece together the puzzle pieces  
  
he just received Some oil rig was an X-file,  
  
Starkweather's husband is a lawyer trying to prosecute this  
  
company who wants their secrets protected.... "Should we  
  
be concerned for Starkweather's safety?" he asked.  
  
"Agent Starkweather was not with the X-Files at that time,  
  
I'm more concerned for yours and Mulder's safety," Skinner  
  
said curtly.  
  
"Not Agent Starkweather, sir. Her husband," Sam stood up.  
  
"Look, if I'm right," and I hope I am because I am  
  
completely guessing here "Ben is brand new to law, he  
  
landed a big case that he thinks will make him big, but  
  
he's in over his head. If there are people out there who  
  
wants to keep this quiet, wouldn't they go after the  
  
prosecutor rather than us?"  
  
"Sir," Scully spoke up for the first time. "He has a  
  
point."  
  
"Duly taken," Skinner agreed.  
  
Sam had a brainstorm. "Sir, let me run back to the office  
  
quick to get the file. I'll bring it up and we can go  
  
through it word by word... so, uh, we can create a coherent  
  
argument why this can't be used in a public trial... the  
  
trial is going to be open to media, I assume?"  
  
"A young, cocky lawyer wouldn't have it any other way."  
  
Mulder said dryly.  
  
Sam excused himself and made his narrow escape. Hopefully,  
  
he would have time to at least skim through the file so he  
  
could have a minimal clue on what everyone was talking  
  
about and maybe figure out why Benjamin Starkweather was  
  
going to be murdered and how Mulder was about to be framed  
  
and also hopefully find a way to stop it...  
  
When Sam left, Mulder turned to Scully and said "Is it just  
  
me or is the Puppy-Man successfully shed his charming  
  
Southern-New York hybrid accent in favor of the bland  
  
Indianan nuances?"  
  
Scully sighed. "He's having a rough day, Mulder. Let him  
  
be."  
  
Sam fairly raced down the hall to the elevator. With a  
  
little luck, if he could find a way to stop the x-file from  
  
becoming part of the testimony, he could stop the murder  
  
from happening, getv the x-files would as back to normal as  
  
the x-files got, and get out of there.  
  
"Al!" He hissed into the air in the elevator. Thankfully,  
  
Al appeared.  
  
"Mulder gave me a dirty look earlier. All I did was sit."  
  
"Next to Scully?" Sam nodded sheepishly.  
  
"That explains it. That, and he sees you as Doggett,  
  
remember?"  
  
"What's the deal with the oil rig?"  
  
"On Mulder and Doggett's official final case together.  
  
Apparently, they were the sole survivors on an oil rig that  
  
had been tainted with oil that harbored alien DNA. During  
  
the invasion of the body snatchers, there was a giant  
  
explosion that Mulder was blamed for. The explosion  
  
destroyed the oil rig, and he was 86'ed from the FBI as a  
  
result."  
  
"Doggett got Mulder fired?"  
  
"No...no...that's what I thought to, Sam, but as much as  
  
Mulder and Doggett piss on each other, Doggett insists that  
  
Mulder took the fall for him.  
  
"So that explains why Mulder's not on the x-files anymore."  
  
Sam was now in the office, Starkweather was busying herself  
  
with filing the report on their last case.  
  
"Not entirely, but there will be time for the rundown  
  
later. Right now, there's more important things to worry  
  
about."  
  
"And what's that?"  
  
"Unless you do something *FAST* the case is going to go to  
  
court, and a lot of people are going to be killed, and the  
  
idiot Director Kersch will close the door on the x-files  
  
for good."  
  
"The case report for Scotland--? Doggett, are you ok?"  
  
Starkweather answered questioningly.  
  
"I'm--uh--fine. Case report--hey, do you think you can get  
  
the files for me on the last case Mulder and I worked on,  
  
the one with the oil rig? I can't seem to remember where I  
  
put it." Sam feigned rummaging through the files.  
  
In light of what the day was, Starkweather decided to  
  
forego the usual snide remarks.  
  
"When Scully came in, you would have thought *she* was the  
  
one gone for a month. What was that all about?"  
  
Starkweather handed him the file.  
  
Gone for a month?  
  
"She got in a fight with a big bad alien bounty hunter and  
  
almost got herself killed. Mulder was in the area and  
  
rescued her." Al prompted.  
  
"Just--uh--happy to see her, that's all. Sam was growing  
  
uneasy with Starkweather's suspicious glances averted in  
  
his direction. In a flash, he had for the second time that  
  
hour, a brainstorm. "You think you can stop your husband  
  
from taking the case?"  
  
"Look, I'm watching your back, Doggett. My idiot lawyer  
  
husband is not going to run you and Mulder through the mud  
  
if I have anything to do with it."  
  
"I'm not worried about Dog--me or Mulder. I'm only worried  
  
for him. He's a fresh prosecutor, which makes him a prime  
  
target for a big oil company like the one we're working  
  
with."  
  
"Yeah, he'll be fish food." Al butted in.  
  
"I think you've been reading too many John Grisham books  
  
lately." She snorted and inadvertently went back to her  
  
typing.  
  
"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Sam said, and with  
  
that, was on his way back to Skinner's office.  
  
Starkweather looked up from her typing when Sam left,  
  
absently nibbling a pen cap. Al hovered about her,  
  
lingering for a bit. Despite her massive accolades and  
  
credentials, she looked so sweet and young, too young to  
  
handle all the insanity that was being thrown at her. "Kid,  
  
I know you can't hear me," Al said, "but we're doing  
  
everything we can so you and Benny can get old and wrinkly  
  
together, okay? You just hang in there."  
  
Starkweather turned her head suddenly and stared wide eyed  
  
into the void where the hologram only Sam was supposed to  
  
see was standing.  
  
"Kid?" Al said nervously. "You CAN'T hear me, right?"  
  
"Hello?" Starkweather stood up, her voice trembling but a  
  
hair. "Is somebody down here?" She walked "through" Al and  
  
to the door, looking out. "I CAN hear you..." she turned  
  
back around and looked around the apparently empty office.  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
Oh crap Al thought as he punched the keys on his  
  
console that opened the door to leave the hologram room.  
  
Getting out of here he thought as he disappeared.  
  
He decided he better do some more research into the  
  
enigmatic creature he was leaving behind....  
  
*********************************  
  
Back to the future  
  
Al slammed the door of his office, shrugged off his garish  
  
coat and tore off his tie. He booted up his computer and  
  
connected to Ziggy's mainframe. He punched in a few  
  
commands and Ziggy started surfing. "Come on, come on..."  
  
he muttered as Ziggy combed through millions and millions  
  
of files.  
  
"Search completed. Downloading now," Ziggy's snotty voice  
  
purred out of Al's computer speakers.  
  
"Thank you sweetheart," Al always felt silly flirting with  
  
a computer, but Sam, before his maiden leap, had insisted  
  
how important it was to maintain Ziggy's ego.  
  
"Download complete. Shall I start reading now Admiral?"  
  
"Please," Al said, leaning back in his chair.  
  
Ziggy began to drone "Admiral, did you forget to unformat  
  
your brainwaves from Mulder's?"  
  
"Yeah - no, oh geez, we didn't!" Al sat up. "Cripes, it's a  
  
good thing Mulder wasn't around when I was, he'd see me and  
  
everyone would think he's batty than he already is. But,  
  
hey, Ziggy, how does that explain Agent Starkweather  
  
hearing me? And why didn't she hear me the first time I  
  
dropped in?"  
  
"Because there is an 65.5% chance that Fox Mulder and  
  
Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather may be blood relatives."  
  
"WHAT????" Al spluttered. "How??"  
  
"As of right now, there is only one inconclusive DNA test  
  
on blood samples taken from the murder scene and from the  
  
last person to see Benjamin Starkweather alive. There is no  
  
further concrete documented evidence on that unfortunately,  
  
since Fox Mulder is still slated to be killed once he's  
  
arrested and now Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather will be killed  
  
three days afterwards."  
  
"WHAT???" Al spluttered again. "When did THAT happen?"  
  
"A few moments ago, history was inadventdently changed  
  
after Fox Mulder's conversation with Jerilyn a few moments  
  
ago."  
  
"Aw, great!!! Mulder! You numbskull!!! Whadd'ya say to  
  
her!!!!" he shouted vainly. "This is one chick you don't  
  
wanna piss off!!!"  
  
"Admiral," Ziggy said pleasantly. "I would suggest you  
  
return to the aid of Dr. Beckett, he's trying to break up  
  
the fight as we speak."  
  
Just then Goushie burst through the door, "Al, I'm to  
  
bother you, but we need you in the imaging chamber, we're  
  
having problems with Mr. Doggett." He scurried out again.  
  
Al stood calmly in his office, chewing on his cigar. "This  
  
is why I'm losing my hair," he concluded.  
  
Doggett would have to simmer for just a bit.  
  
Al was all set to go help Sam, but was derailed by Goushie.  
  
"No, Al, you gotta go talk to Doggett now!"  
  
"B-b-but," Al stammered as Goushie bodily dragged him away  
  
going into the hologram room.  
  
"No, man, he hurt himself, you gotta go talk to him."  
  
"Hurt himself, how?"  
  
"He busted through the two-way mirror! Cut up his-um, Sam's  
  
head, he's getting stitched up. Man, you gotta deal with  
  
him now, before he runs! He's only stayin' put 'cause  
  
security's pointing a gun at him while the doc is sewing  
  
him up!"  
  
"God damn stupid Marines!" Al swore and ran down the hall  
  
as fast as his little Italian legs could carry him.  
  
Doggett was getting more than a little irritated with the  
  
man.  
  
He sensed that there were things being kept from him.  
  
Doggett kept his tone steadily angry. The agent knew from  
  
experience it did no good to allow his anger and confusion  
  
to get the better of him.  
  
Al was looking down at the folder he came in with.  
  
"With all due respect, sir, but where the fuck do you think  
  
you get off? You want me to give you information on a  
  
classified case, when I have no idea where I am, why you're  
  
holding me, or who you are."  
  
"I can't tell that. If I told you, the implications of  
  
doing so might change everyone in this building, not to  
  
mention everyone around you. Believe me Agent Doggett, we  
  
are not holding you captive, but it is in  
  
your best interest, and in the best interest of everyone  
  
else concerned that you stay put." Al's tone was calm and  
  
commanding.  
  
"Can you at least tell me who you are?"  
  
"That, I can do. I am Admiral Calavici." Al extended a hand  
  
in greeting.  
  
"Aw, Christ! A seaman." Doggett grumbled under his breath  
  
and grudgingly accepted the handshake.  
  
"What, the Marines have a problem with the Navy?"  
  
"No, not at all, we love the Navy," Doggett quipped, "subs  
  
make great sandwiches. I caught that movie, too, Admiral."  
  
"Are Horses ass lessons involved in FBI training, Doggett?"  
  
Doggett came back with something Mulder said to him a few  
  
months ago.  
  
"Naw," Doggett drawled "just comes with the territory. If  
  
that is all, can I please get my clothes and leave? Like I  
  
said, I have business to attend to. I wasn't kidding when I  
  
said shit was about to hit the fan."  
  
"You don't wanna do that, Agent Doggett."  
  
"Why the hell not? Would you please stop giving me the  
  
runaround and tell me what is going on here?"  
  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."  
  
"In my line of work, believe me...I think I would."  
  
Fed up with the man at the desk who was apparently not  
  
cooperating, Doggett bolted up from his chair, and for the first time,  
  
he noticed a reflection in the mirror that was not his own.  
  
In the Plexiglas of the observation mirror staring back at  
  
him was a tall young man with broad shoulders, dark hair  
  
with a white streak descending from the beginnings of a  
  
receding hairline, five o'clock stubble grazing a  
  
pronounced chin. He thought for an instant that Mulder was  
  
watching the whole thing on the other side of the  
  
observation mirror.  
  
"That's a neat trick, Mulder, getting an actor to do a  
  
mirror routine with me. Or did you get Langley to rig up a  
  
computer composite of somebody else's face with motion  
  
detectors? I'm impressed."  
  
"It's not a trick, Agent Doggett. As much as it looks like  
  
it, Mulder didn't do this. It would be a lot easier for all  
  
concerned if you would please tell us what that case is all  
  
about that you were working on last. You would be helping a  
  
lot of people. The sooner you help us, the sooner we will  
  
let you get back home. Can you tell me how it is that you  
  
were instated into the x-files?"  
  
"I was assigned to the x-files in may last year to find the  
  
division founder, Fox Mulder. After his death and res--  
  
recovery, my partner, Dana Scully, tried to get him  
  
reinstated, but because of his poor health, he failed the  
  
physical requirements set by the Bureau, and Assistant  
  
Director Walter Skinner recruited the addition of Dr.  
  
Jerilyn Starkweather, who was instated after a resurgence  
  
of x-file cases. About a month ago, Agent Starkweather was  
  
attacked as a direct result of our last case, and by  
  
coincidence, Scully's former partner was in the vacinity,  
  
and came to her aid.  
  
"What do you mean *death*?" Al queried. He thought that was  
  
just a clerical error.  
  
"I was a pall bearer for his funeral, Admiral. We found 'im  
  
dead in the woods of Oregon after an exhaustive six-month  
  
search." Doggett found it odd that this man was accepting  
  
everything he had just said.  
  
Al stormed into the First Aid room. The medic was almost  
  
finished up with her work on Doggett-in-Sam's body's  
  
injury.  
  
"Alright, muy macho man," Al barked. "You and me gotta  
  
talk. If you don't cooperate with us right now, both Mulder  
  
and Starkweather will be sleeping with the fishes..."  
  
"I was just told that I am in the year 2011 in *ROSWELL*  
  
NM." Doggett began incredulously. "Within the laws of  
  
physics, it is impossible to be transported instantaneously  
  
through space in a matter of seconds. Let  
  
alone time. For arguments' sake. If I were to say that this  
  
were all possible, how is it that my actions effect what  
  
hasn't even happened yet. With all due respect and games aside,  
  
why the fuck would I wanna believe  
  
someone who's holding me hostage, Popeye?"  
  
"Because, Sherlock, there's a great big gun still pointed  
  
at your head right now, and you just broke our observation  
  
mirror, that's why. This was completely unnecessary. We are  
  
only holding you hostage for your own protection. Jesus,  
  
Doggett! You're more stubborn than Mulder ever was! If  
  
you would trust us just a little, none of this would hafta  
  
happen."  
  
"I can't affoard to trust anyone in my line of work."  
  
"Listen, Doggett. As against you as you obviously think I  
  
am, I'm on your side. I'm trying to help your future  
  
situation here, I'm trying to save your partner's life,  
  
and I'm trying to save Mr. TrustNoOne himself. Me,  
  
Dr. Becket, and all the other employees involved in this  
  
venture are risking our lives  
  
--our futures--our entire existances--for  
  
you and the rest of the Scooby gang down in that x-file  
  
dungeon. If it were up to me, your ass would be grass right now,  
  
but it's not up to me."  
  
"Tell me, please." Doggett implored. "I'm all ears. Who is  
  
it up to, Admiral?" Doggett interrogated.  
  
"It's up to Him." Al pointed his cigar emphatically upward.  
  
"So, it's up to Him, huh?" Doggett echoed incredulously.  
  
"It's up to Him that the x-files office stay open. Tell me  
  
this then. Was it up to Him to take Luke? Was it up to Him  
  
to take Mulder and leave me with the x-files? Was all that,  
  
and every other tragedy you and Dr. Becket couldn't stop up  
  
to Him, too?"  
  
"Look, life is pain. Anyone who says otherwise is either  
  
stupid or trying to sell you something. I can't tell you  
  
how many times I've laid awake at night asking the same  
  
goddamn questions myself, but if you wanna find the  
  
Truth that's out there, Doggett, you're going to have to  
  
trust me. Any more damage from you, and I swear to God  
  
I'll have you sedated." Al said, leaving the room, making  
  
his way to the imaging chamber. 


	3. What are the odds?

In the present  
  
**************  
  
After the meeting, Mulder offered to take Scully out for a  
  
bite to eat. With the swamped cases, she decided it  
  
wouldn't be a bad idea--especially since she  
  
could use the opportunity to attempt to talk  
  
sense into Mulder.  
  
Not to mention the fact that she had no intention of facing  
  
Starkweather after Mulder's outburst. If they were going to  
  
get anywhere on the case, then it would not do to make an  
  
enemy of Starkweather.  
  
Once at the restaraunt, Mulder acted like the previous  
  
meeting with Skinner hadn't happened. He rattled on to  
  
Scully about something he saw on T.V. the other night, and  
  
the perks about his new office, and asked her about Boo.  
  
"Do you think you were a little bit hard on Agent  
  
Starkweather back there?" Scully suggested, biting into her  
  
Caesar salad.  
  
Mulder reflected for a moment, and shook his head as he bit  
  
into his cheeseburger. "I don't think she's being up front  
  
with either you or Puppy-Man, Scully. I think she *did*  
  
know what was going on. *Exactly* and wanted to use that  
  
against me because of how I treated her mother."  
  
"Mulder," Scully countered, "You don't know that for sure.  
  
I'm really surprised at you. Usually you're a good judge of  
  
people. I honestly don't think she's got any tricks up her  
  
sleeve."  
  
"So you're taking her side now?" Mulder demanded  
  
childishly.  
  
"She's on our team, Mulder. She could help her--us--if you  
  
give her a chance and stop being an idiot where she's  
  
concerned."  
  
"I'm sorry, Scully." He pouted, shoving a handfull of fries  
  
drowned in ketchup in his mouth. "Just didn't know who else  
  
to blame for all of this. She seemed to be the likely  
  
choice."  
  
"You of *all* people should know something about things not  
  
being what they seem. Maybe you could make peace with her.  
  
Please, Mulder," Scully pleaded, "just swallow your pride  
  
and let her shed light on this case. She's like you in a  
  
lot of ways. In a parallel universe, you two might even be  
  
chummy."  
  
"In a parallel universe, Elvis would be a politician."  
  
Mulder quipped. He then rose from the table, planting a  
  
kiss on her forehead. "I gotta get back to work. I'll see  
  
you later to night?" He said, leaving money on the table.  
  
Scully got up and nodded with a smile, following him out  
  
the door. She hoped she had convinced him enough to amend  
  
his previous damage.  
  
  
  
As Skinner waited for Doggett to get back, he decided to  
  
take the opportunity to avoid any further squabbles in  
  
front of his desk that day. He hated acting like a parent  
  
with middle-aged adults, and hated being treated like a  
  
parent by his top agents even more. It was a delicate  
  
situation though, because Mulder held the power now; and as  
  
much as Skinner hated to admit it, Mulder and he were no  
  
longer superior/subordinate. It was a delicate situation  
  
not because he enjoyed wielding power over his former agent  
  
here he inwardly cringed, but because legally, there was  
  
nothing more he could do for him and his quest. Skinner  
  
prayed silently to the god of authority and command that  
  
the man still respected him as a colleague enough to  
  
listen. Not that Fox Mulder had actually listened while  
  
that working relationship *had* existed, but it helped to  
  
at least get his attention.  
  
"Mulder, I'm on your side--and as long as I'm in this  
  
office, I'll do anything I can to help you out, and  
  
anything in my power to keep my promises."  
  
Mulder nodded a thanks.  
  
"But, you have to do your part too. It's not going to do  
  
anybody any good to have an argument loud enough for Kersh  
  
to hear between you and Doggett. The D.D. wants my ass in  
  
Florida ASAP because of the oil rig clusterfuck. I'm doing  
  
everything I can to stay put as long as possible. But,  
  
please--" he paused here to avert a glance in Scully's  
  
direction "for everyone concerned," he pleaded in all  
  
seriousness. "Do us all a favor and grow the hell up before  
  
Doggett gets back."  
  
"Duly noted, sir." The tone in Mulder's voice was something  
  
like an apologetic whimper. He might as well have had a  
  
tail between his legs.  
  
Not long after, Kimberly announced Doggett, and Mulder took  
  
his rightful seat next to Scully, giving Sam a "Take  
  
that!" look, to which Scully and Skinner both shot warning  
  
glances. Mulder had a jab ready for him for being gone so  
  
long, but wisely decided against it after considering the  
  
wrath of Scully later.  
  
"Did you find anything Agent?" Skinner demanded  
  
"Sir, do you honestly think that testimony sounding like it  
  
came from a b-grade science fiction movie is credible  
  
material?"  
  
"Credible or not," Mulder challenged, "all this prosecutor  
  
needs to convince a jury of our peers is proof beyond a  
  
questionable doubt."  
  
"I don't see anything in this report that shows that. I  
  
don't think this testimony is a valid argument that would  
  
hold up in any court. It would only buy Starkweather stage  
  
time."  
  
"Starkweather?" Mulder puzzled; his brow furrowed in  
  
thought trying to connect the name.  
  
"Benjamin Starkweather is the prosecutor for this case."  
  
Scully prompted.  
  
"Any relation to Jerilyn?"  
  
"By law."  
  
Mulder bolted up from his seat, and at the speed of bullets  
  
out of a machine gun told Skinner "I gotta go to the  
  
restroom."  
  
"Talk about the power of suggestion." Sam said, as he  
  
remembered the last time Mulder had feigned a full bladder  
  
around him, and decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to  
  
follow.  
  
"Mulder, hang on a sec!" Sam called after him, but Mulder  
  
had already closed the elevator door. Sam futily banged on  
  
the door and then immediately got into the next one. He  
  
could hear the argument as he approached the office.  
  
"Say what you want, Starkweather, but you set me up."  
  
Mulder hissed  
  
"I had absolutely no idea until last night that my husband  
  
took that case. I had no idea until two fucking hours ago  
  
that my husband's case involved you." Starkweather's  
  
defensive voice remained controlled and furious.  
  
"You wanna get me back for what I did to your mother."  
  
Mulder persisted. Sam peeked just inside the door now.  
  
Mulder and Starkweather were as eye-to-eye as the two got.  
  
The only time Sam remembered anger being this palpable when  
  
he walked in on his little sister Katie and his older  
  
brother Tom having a huge fight. "You set me up because you  
  
want to punish me for badgering her about aliens during her  
  
last lucid moments, and you're dragging Doggett down with  
  
me. Look--this is *OUR* fight. No need to bring Puppy-Man  
  
into this."  
  
"I am not going to defend myself to you. Deputy Mayor may I  
  
remind you that this is no longer your office."  
  
Starkweather replied icily.  
  
"Mulder, she can help us. It's not a good idea to piss her  
  
off." coaxed Sam.  
  
"Next time you accuse someone, Mr. Mulder, it might not be  
  
a bad idea to make sure your finger isn't barking up the  
  
wrong ass."  
  
"If you think I'm done here, you've got another thing  
  
coming." Mulder growled, and stormed passed Sam in a huff  
  
back to Skinner's office to finish the meeting. This  
  
argument would not look good in Mulder's defense if he  
  
couldn't stop the murder.  
  
Later that afternoon...  
  
FBI Employee Only  
  
Gym and Weight Room  
  
At the end of the workday, Sam wandered into the giant  
  
gymnasium. Two feds were running laps on the track around  
  
the basketball court, discussing a case. A few members of  
  
the "good old boys" club were taking a quick break from  
  
playing three on three on one half of the court. On the  
  
other half of the court, Starkweather was hitting tennis  
  
balls against the wall, almost as good as a pro.  
  
Sam paused and felt his breath catch in his throat. When he  
  
first saw her, she looked like a girl masquerading in one  
  
of her mother's business suits, despite her carefully  
  
applied make-up and her hair pulled tightly back in an  
  
unmerciless bun. Watching her smash the tennis racket, a  
  
very nice Winston Titanium racket at that, time and time  
  
again, Sam realized it would be a mistake to ever, ever  
  
think that she was physically weak. If she looked like a  
  
teenager, she then definitely looked like a healthy  
  
teenager involved in every competitive sport at her high  
  
school. There wasn't an once of fat on her body, she had  
  
ripplings of muscle on all the right places without losing  
  
any of the supple curves which made her irresistibly  
  
feminine. Sam was also surprised by the length of her hair,  
  
out of it's rigid military style bun and pulled up into a  
  
flowing pony tail.  
  
As Sam approached her, he overheard the sniggering comments  
  
about her physique from the "old school" male feds. Sam  
  
shot them an evil glance, forgetting that he possessed  
  
Doggett's serious craggy face, tall, lean, menacing build  
  
and piercing glacial blue eyes, which shamed the "boys"  
  
into resuming their game.  
  
Starkweather, not realizing Sam-in-Doggett's body, was less  
  
than five steps away, slam the ball into the wall, but  
  
missed it's return. Sam caught the tennis ball easily and  
  
strolled up to her. "Looking for this?" He asked as he held  
  
the ball up to her.  
  
Starkweather accepted it, wiping the sweat out of her eyes.  
  
"Hi," she panted, bending over to catch her breath.  
  
"I saw you favoring your right foot," Sam, ever the doctor,  
  
told her. "You better be careful you don't want to hurt  
  
yourself again."  
  
"I know, I know," she said straighten up. She flexed the  
  
fingers barely poking out of her cast. "I'll be glad to get  
  
this damn thing off. Thank God I'm ambidextrous."  
  
"Quite a first day back, huh?" Sam said casually.  
  
"Don't remind me," she groaned.  
  
"Starkweather, we got to talk."  
  
"I know, I know," she brushed the sweaty strands of hair  
  
out of her face. "I screwed up royally today and I don't  
  
understand why. I was doing so good watching what I say  
  
when I started here, but today, man, I don't know. I got  
  
pissed off and basically did what I did that got me in  
  
trouble in Minneapolis. I opened my mouth and sewage just  
  
spewed out. I'm so damn mad right now, Doggett. I don't  
  
know who I want to kill first, Mulder or my husband."  
  
"You've got to stay focused, Starkweather," Sam told her.  
  
"There's too many lives at stake, you can not let your  
  
personal problems interfere, no matter what Mulder or Ben  
  
or whoever says or does that sets you off." Starkweather  
  
looked at her tennis shoes. "Listen," Sam started. "why  
  
don't you go get cleaned up and dressed-" he wasn't really  
  
comfortable having a heart to heart with Starkweather  
  
wearing only a work-out bra and a pair of Air Force issued  
  
sweatpants. "-and we'll go..." he was about to suggest  
  
dinner, but then he figured she wasn't exactly a fancy  
  
restaurant type of girl "... grab a beer and a burger or  
  
something and sit and try to make sense of this, figure out  
  
a game plan." to keep your husband alive. he mentally  
  
added.  
  
Starkweather looked up at him with her hazel puppy dog  
  
eyes. "Okay, give me about twenty minutes or so. I'll meet  
  
you here." She winked.  
  
When she walked away, Sam realized why those eyes looked so  
  
familiar....  
  
Mulder...  
  
"Oh boy..." he said aloud as he sat down on a bench.  
  
  
  
Starkweather returned to the gym twenty-two minutes later,  
  
carrying her briefcase and her gym bag. Sam felt his breath  
  
catch in his throat. Her hair, finally freed from all  
  
restrictions, flowed over her shoulders, almost reaching  
  
her posterior. She wore a simple gray T-shirt from the Gap  
  
and a pair of well-loved Calvin Klein jeans. She was sans  
  
make-up and jewelry, save a simple diamond solitaire with  
  
the wedding band sodered on.  
  
Sam looked down at his sober black suit and fiddled with  
  
his blue, white and slate gray tie. "Looks like I'm over  
  
dressed," he joked, reaching to relieve her of the burden  
  
of carrying the heavy gym bag.  
  
Starkweather gave him an disarming smile. "Let's go," she  
  
said. "I'm hungry." She relinquished the bag to him.  
  
They wandered downtown DC until they found a pub that  
  
seemed somewhat deserted, with the exception of one or two  
  
bar flies hovering around the beautiful oak bar. Sam and  
  
Starkweather opted for a secluded table in the far back. A  
  
cheery server took their drink orders, Starkweather, a Bud  
  
Light and Sam, in dire need of a stiff drink, a Jack  
  
Daniels on the rocks.  
  
"Alright Starkweather," Sam said after the server brought  
  
them their adult beverages and promised to be back in a few  
  
minutes for their meal orders, "talk to me."  
  
"I didn't know that Ben was prosecuting that oil rig case,  
  
Doggett. No matter what Mulder thinks, you have to believe  
  
me."  
  
"I do believe you, that's besides the point," Sam insisted,  
  
resisting a weird urge to clasp her small hands in his.  
  
"All that matters is keeping your husband safe. We have  
  
every reason to believe that the people who want to keep  
  
this hushed up are going to try to come after Ben."  
  
"And the people who hushed up the Scotland case,"  
  
Starkweather said quietly. "I didn't get a chance to tell  
  
Scully before she left, but as I was finishing up my report  
  
on the jet plane crash there, I stumbled across a  
  
coincidence that may not be a coincidence." When Sam asked  
  
what, she continued, a little reluctantly. "Andrews, the  
  
air base where the plane and the deceased captain were  
  
originally stationed and flew out has a major fuel contract  
  
with that same oil company. So I did a little digging this  
  
afternoon after my chat with the fucking Deputy Mayor and  
  
guess what? Two other air bases also have contracts with  
  
them. Lackland AFB, where I and the majority of new  
  
recruits do their Basic and Tech School training, and Luke  
  
AFB in Arizona, where I did my last two years as active  
  
airman. I bet if we do some more scrounging, we'll find  
  
some more mysterious plane wrecks. And when we do, we can  
  
probably gather enough evidence to bring them up on federal  
  
charges of willful destruction of government property with  
  
intent of murdering American service men. A big juicy  
  
federal case which would blow Ben's sad little civil suit  
  
out of the water. Plus with a federal case involving breach  
  
of national security, we can secure a gag order, which  
  
means you and Mulder and my idiot husband will be safe as  
  
churches on Easter Sunday."  
  
"How long would the research take?" Sam asked.  
  
"Too long, but I figure, I start now, pull a couple of all-  
  
nighters-"  
  
"Starkweather, you need to go home tonight."  
  
"I have no desire to go home...."  
  
"Listen to me, Starkweather," Sam urgently, now taking  
  
Starkweather's hands in his. Starkweather looked startled  
  
but by all means, not uncomfortable. "You have to go home,  
  
talk some sense into Ben. Talk to him as his wife, not as a  
  
federal agent. They want to kill Ben. Tell him that. I  
  
don't care if it's classified information or not, but tell  
  
him the details of the case, make him understand that it's  
  
not worth the risk. Tell him you don't want to be a widow.  
  
As much as you complain about him, you love him. I see it  
  
in your eyes." I see Mulder in your eyes too. Why is  
  
that?? he thought.  
  
"If I give him any information to him, he will use it and  
  
before we know it, it will be my ass on the stand too, now  
  
how will that help anything?" she demanded, withdrawing her  
  
hands.  
  
Sam put his hands in his lap. She had a point. Before he  
  
could say anything, Al appeared behind Starkweather. He  
  
gestured with his head for Sam to go to the restroom. Sam  
  
looked at Al confusedly. Al groaned and this time with wild  
  
and exagerrated movements with his head and arms, pointed  
  
at the restroom.  
  
"What is it Doggett?" Starkweather turned around to look  
  
where Sam was looking. She saw nothing but the news blaring  
  
on the TV behind her. "Something interesting on?"  
  
"No, no," Sam stood up. "I have to use the bathroom. When  
  
the waitress comes back, just order me a burger with  
  
everything and an order of fries, please."  
  
As Sam walked away, Starkweather shouted behind him. "You  
  
have a bladder like a pregnant woman!"  
  
Sam was relieved to find the hideously dirty bathroom  
  
devoid of people. Al popped in in front of him. "Al, what's  
  
going on?" he asked. "Why couldn't you talk to me in front  
  
of her?"  
  
"Because she can HEAR me, Sam!"  
  
"HEAR you? Are you sure? How?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure," Al chewed on his ever present cigar and  
  
thumped his little blinking console a few times. "As for  
  
how... you ain't gonna believe this, but when that hellcat  
  
out there and Mr. Spooky-pants himself find out, they're  
  
either gonna throw up or commit suicide, whichever comes  
  
first."  
  
"What?"  
  
"When you leaped into Agent Scully, we configured Mulder's  
  
brainwaves so he could see me, but we forgot to switch it  
  
off. Now, there's some bug in Ziggy's system that we can't  
  
turn it off. We're working on it, but it's gonna take time.  
  
Time we ain't got, buddy."  
  
"And Starkweather?"  
  
"Ziggy thinks that Starkweather can hear me because there's  
  
a 65% chance that... they're blood-relation."  
  
"Are you serious? How is that possible? How are they  
  
related? Why only a 65% chance?"  
  
Al rubbed his eyes. His body was screaming for a strong  
  
drink and forty years of sleep. "It's possible because  
  
Starkweather was found abandoned in the Admiral's car and  
  
they adopted her shortly afterwards. Nobody knows who her  
  
real parents are. We don't know HOW they're related because  
  
after Mulder gets whacked while he's in custody for Ben's  
  
murder, Starkweather gets iced three days later in a  
  
convieniece store holdup, according to police reports."  
  
"Oh no..." Sam leaned against a stall door.  
  
"That's not all, Sam." Al said gravely. "I just found out a  
  
few minutes ago that it gets worse. Two months after that,  
  
the Assistant Director Skinner gets gunned down in his own  
  
home. He holds on for a few days in ICU, but he doesn't  
  
make it. Two months after that, these three bozo computer  
  
hackers they use as consultants, the Lonely Hearts' Club or  
  
whatever... their offices get blown up, kablooey, with 'em  
  
all in it."  
  
"Jesus, no," Sam's heart thudded as the death count kept  
  
adding up.  
  
"That's not all, Sam."  
  
"There's MORE?"  
  
"After THAT, Scully, along with her mom and kid are run off  
  
the road and into the Potomac River, in the dead of winter.  
  
There are no survivors."  
  
"Oh my God, Scully too?" Sam felt sick. "And her kid?"  
  
"There's a another one too Sam, we haven't met her yet. One  
  
Special Agent Monica Reyes. She joined up on the X-Files  
  
shortly after Scully had her kid, but she's MIA right now  
  
because she fell off a ladder while helping paint a house.  
  
Busted her tailbone along with some minor injuries. Anyway,  
  
after the Scully deaths, she's found strangled at a subway  
  
station while she was investigating a case in New York."  
  
"Oh, God... all those people. And an innocent child...  
  
murdered."  
  
"There's one more Sam..."  
  
"Doggett."  
  
"Twenty-four hours after Jerilyn Starkweather meets her  
  
maker, Doggett is stabbed to death waiting for a cab...  
  
which means YOU could be standing in line at the Pearly  
  
Gates if we don't get you out of this."  
  
Sam was looking at the bigger picture, not just the threat  
  
on his life. "The entire X-Files is wiped out."  
  
"It's wiped out, the X-Files goes under military  
  
jurisdiction and remains under lock and key to this day.  
  
And, just to add to the fiesta, Ziggy just calculated that  
  
a year from now, there's a 99.5% chance of a major plague  
  
that's not exactly of this world that's gonna wipe out the  
  
majority of the human population. And, for the cherry on  
  
the shit sundae, Doggett back with us, is being a horse's  
  
ass. Completely uncooperative. He busted through a glass  
  
window to get out. You're gonna have a real pretty scar on  
  
your forehead when we finally get you back in your body,  
  
thanks to him. We're holding him at gun point. We gotta  
  
boogey on this one Sam before everything goes ca-ca."  
  
"Ca-ca?" Sam groaned. "That's an understatement."  
  
"Get to work Sam." Al opened the door and prepared to step  
  
back into the future. "I'll do what I can on my end, but  
  
you gotta pull all the stops on this one. And we ain't got  
  
much time. Ben vanishes off the face of the earth tomorrow  
  
night." Al vanished.  
  
Scully's apartment  
  
Georgetown  
  
Much later that night...  
  
She was in Democratic Rock, Georgia again, laying on the  
  
blood-spattered sheets, seeing all those faces, staring at  
  
her unmerciless, contemplating her doom while she writhed  
  
in agony, trying to expel her son from the safety of her  
  
womb into the uncertainity of life. She felt Monica's hands  
  
on her knees, hearing her voice begging her, "Push Dana!"  
  
"No, no, it's mine. It's my baby," she whimpered again  
  
aloud in her sleep.  
  
"Scully?"  
  
Mulder sat up and shook her gently. "Scully, wake up."  
  
Scully opened her eyes wide and rolled over. "Wh-what?  
  
What's happening?" she sat up, only partial in this world,  
  
still partially in her nightmare realm.  
  
"You were talking in your sleep. You were having a  
  
nightmare." He reached for her, but she bolted from her  
  
bed.  
  
"I have to check on William," she muttered as she crossed  
  
over to the baby's bed, who had graduated from bassinet to  
  
crib. She gripped the railing and looked down at her  
  
miracle, sleeping safely, unaware of the painful lessons  
  
that life will give him as he grows.  
  
Mulder too got out of bed and went to her, wrapping his  
  
bare arms around her petite waist. "Scully? Are you okay?"  
  
he whispered, resting his cheek on her hair.  
  
"I'm fine," she said, bowing her head. "It was just a bad  
  
dream."  
  
"What was it?"  
  
"It was a bad dream, nothing more," she insisted, pushing  
  
away from him, back towards bed.  
  
Mulder followed her and sat down by her. "Are you still mad  
  
at me for fighting with Jerilyn today?" He tried teasing.  
  
"I promised I'd play nice from now on."  
  
"No, I'm not upset anymore about that," she looked away and  
  
layed back down in bed.  
  
Mulder got in on the other side and curled up around her.  
  
"Then talk to me." He rested his head in the soft crook  
  
between her cheek and shoulders.  
  
"Do you think Ben and Jerilyn talk?" Scully asked, to  
  
distract him from prying into her terror-filled sleep.  
  
Mulder paused as his profiler's mind went to work. For a  
  
moment, Scully thought he fell back asleep until he said,  
  
"I think they try. I think they genuinely care for  
  
eachother. But, judging from what you've told me, they had  
  
a whirlwind weekend romance with Jerilyn commuting from the  
  
University of Iowa to Des Moines for her duties for the  
  
Iowa Air National Guard but when Jerilyn opted not to  
  
become a medical doctor, but an FBI agent, instead of  
  
seeing if they could handle awesome responsibility of  
  
commitment while she was at Quantico and he was in the  
  
Great White North, they leaped into marriage, thinking  
  
their strong affection and fairy-tale romance would survive  
  
the wedding vows. This is probably Jerilyn and also Ben's  
  
first, quote "real" unquote real serious relationship.  
  
Because of their inexperience, when he saw her in that  
  
white gown and he slipped that diamond ring on her finger,  
  
they thought they were going to live happily ever after."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"Sleeping Beauty woke up and saw the warts on her prince.  
  
Benjamin Starkweather is still fast asleep, wondering why  
  
Jerilyn is no longer part of his dreams. They aren't going  
  
to be together much longer, Scully. They still love each  
  
other but they've discovered they don't have what it takes  
  
to live together, to share their lives together."  
  
Scully closed her eyes. "Does anybody live happily ever  
  
after?"  
  
She felt him pull her towards him, so she rolled over,  
  
facing him. He ran his fingers through her hair. "Isn't  
  
that what we're fighting for Scully?" He asked. "Isn't that  
  
what the X-Files is all about? So that we can at least have  
  
the chance of trying to savor the taste of a fairy tale  
  
ending?" He kissed her forehead. "So, no more bad dreams,  
  
okay?"  
  
For a moment, she buried her face into his bare chest. She  
  
kissed the scar down his sternum from that terrible time  
  
when the monsters stole him from her life. Then she lifted  
  
her head up for him to touch his lips with hers. As the  
  
kiss deepened into fairy-tale proportions, she felt him  
  
fumbling with the buttons of her satin night shirt, so she  
  
guided his hands with hers where she wanted him to go.  
  
Al, ever mindful that Mulder could still see him, had  
  
hidden himself in the shadows of the room. When the  
  
situation got hot and heavy, feeling like a pervert, Al  
  
slipped through the walls to the other side so the "busy  
  
bunnies" wouldn't notice him. "Goushie," he whispered, also  
  
mindful that Mulder could still hear them. "Center me in on  
  
the Starkweathers."  
  
He was pretty sure there were no sweet nothings and lovin'  
  
going on over there.  
  
Ben and Jerilyn's apartment  
  
9:56 PM  
  
Ben paused outside of his door, listening to the faint  
  
strains of music from within. He didn't know a thing about  
  
classical music before meeting Jerilyn. He knew plenty now,  
  
and he know how to judge her moods by what music she was  
  
playing. When she was sad or melancholy, she'd play  
  
Beethoven's "Fur Elise" or Liszt's "Liebestraum" (Love's  
  
Dream) When she was in an amourous mood, she'd play  
  
Debussy's "Arabesque" or "Clair de Lune." When she was  
  
playing just to play, she'd play the main theme from Jane  
  
Campion's "The Piano." She had an amazing, almost  
  
preternatural talent for being able to just listen to a  
  
song, even the most complicated piece, and be able to play  
  
it herself. She could play several instruments, all by ear.  
  
Unfortunately, Ben heard Beethoven's "Presto Agitato", her  
  
absolute favorite piece to play when she was royally hacked  
  
off. Ben sighed. Since her right wrist was still in a case,  
  
he guessed that she must be playing the CD at top volume.  
  
He was surprised that the neighbors hadn't complained yet.  
  
When he let himself in, he was astonished to find her at  
  
the piano. The CD player was playing "Presto Agitato", but  
  
so was she, only the left hand parts. Her right hand lay  
  
useless in her lap. She managed to keep in perfect beat  
  
along with the recording. If one would listen very  
  
carefully, then you would be able to hear the left hand  
  
parts overlapping while the right hand parts standing  
  
alone.  
  
Her eyes were closed. Ben shut the door quietly and sat  
  
down, listening to her play, formulating his strategies in  
  
advance. Being a prosecutor, he wasn't very good at defense  
  
and he resented it like hell he'd have to defend himself  
  
against his own wife, but there was nothing he could do  
  
about that.  
  
Caesar, their fat tabby cat, leaped into his lap and  
  
started purring. Absentily, he stroked his orange silky fur  
  
until Jerilyn finished. When she turned around, he made a  
  
feeble joke. "Look, someone around here still likes me."  
  
Jerilyn played along with the next song on her CD, Chopin's  
  
"Etude Number 12" still only the left handed parts. "You  
  
made me look like a horse's ass in my boss's office today,"  
  
she said crisply.  
  
Ben snatched the remote off the coffee table that his  
  
parents gave them as a wedding present. He switched off the  
  
stereo and Jerilyn stopped playing. "You did that yourself,  
  
honey, I hate to break it to you." Jerilyn opened her  
  
mouth, but Ben plowed ahead. "Baby, let's not do this  
  
tonight, I'm tired, you're tired."  
  
"You're right," Jerilyn said dangerously. "I AM tired.  
  
Tired of this bullshit..."  
  
She recalled Sam-in-Doggett's body's words: Talk to him  
  
as his wife, not as a federal agent and took a deep  
  
breath.  
  
"I'm damn tired, Ben," she flung herself off the piano  
  
bench and headed towards the kitchen. Ben and Caesar  
  
followed. Jerilyn continued her rant as she opened a can of  
  
soft cat food for her kitty. "I am so damn tired of trying  
  
to get through to you. I yell. I scream. I beg and I cry  
  
and nothing, nothing, NOTHING I ever say means a damn thing  
  
to you." She dumped the food into Caesar's dish and set it  
  
down for him. As the happy fat feline mawed down on his  
  
treat, she crouched beside him, petting him. "What do I  
  
have to do to get you to listen to me??"  
  
Al, hovering in the doorway behind Ben, nodded his head  
  
approvingly. Good, kid, good. he thought. For the love  
  
of God and everything holy, Ben, listen to her!!!  
  
"I'm listening now," Ben crouched down and took her hands  
  
in his. He brushed her hair out of her face. "Talk to me,  
  
Jeri."  
  
"Don't take this case," she stood up, with the pretense of  
  
doing the dishes.  
  
"Aw, for pete's sake!" Ben got up again, angry now. "You  
  
b*tch about me not listening to you but when I am here to  
  
listen, it's never about us, it's about YOU. Your damn  
  
dreams, your damn wants, needs, career. Jesus Jerilyn, I  
  
don't want to hear about YOU. I want to hear about US."  
  
"This IS about us, Ben!" Jerilyn turned around. "You don't  
  
understand Ben. I just found something terrible out this  
  
afternoon..."  
  
Talk to him as his wife, not as a federal agent  
  
"Ben, it's not about Mulder or Doggett, I don't give a  
  
rat's ass about any of that! It's about you."  
  
"I'm not so sure about you not caring about Doggett." Ben  
  
snarled.  
  
Uh-oh Al thought, not liking where this was going.  
  
"Goushie," he said as loudly as he dared. "Get me info on  
  
the Doggett-Starkweather relationship, STAT."  
  
But Jerilyn was too angry and too involved with her fight  
  
with Ben to notice mysterious whispers. "What do you mean  
  
by that?" A heavy silence lay between man and wife. "God  
  
damn it. Benjamin Lucas Starkweather, you BEST not be  
  
questioning my loyalty and commitment to my vows to you."  
  
"I'm not saying you did the naked pretzel with him... yet."  
  
Ben felt all of his angry insecurities bubble forth, the  
  
fear that maybe he wasn't the man meant to stay by this  
  
unique woman's side for the rest of her life. "But you  
  
spend an awful lot of time with him."  
  
"He's my partner. I kind of have to."  
  
"Even while you were out on leave?" Ben accused her, face  
  
contorted in an ugly mask of jealousy. "You went out to the  
  
firing range with him every week."  
  
"To work on my left hand," Jerilyn held up her broken  
  
wrist. "This hand is going to be so weak when the cast  
  
comes off, I'm gonna have to compensate with my left hand  
  
until its up to par again. Doggett spotted me."  
  
"You went out to dinner with him a few times."  
  
"What? I can't have friends now? I can't go out for a  
  
burger and a beer without you approving of who I'm with?"  
  
"You went to his house last night. Before we went out to  
  
the bar."  
  
"I dropped off a file for him. As a favor for Scully? What  
  
about it?"  
  
"That's not the first time you've been to his house."  
  
"So?"  
  
"You care about him."  
  
"He's my partner and he's my first fucking friend I've made  
  
down here. Are you begrudging me that?"  
  
"Where were you two nights ago?" Ben snapped. Jerilyn  
  
stayed quiet.  
  
Ohhhh, Al moaned to himself. Jerilyn, Jerilyn, what  
  
have you been doing with yourself??? He knew Mulder and  
  
Scully caught the love bug while working together. He hoped  
  
it wasn't contagious.  
  
"Were you at Doggett's?" Ben asked quietly.  
  
Jerilyn couldn't meet his eyes at first. "Yes..." she  
  
looked at him now squarely in the face. "Scully called me.  
  
She said Doggett was having a gathering at his place. It  
  
was me, Scully, the Deputy Mayor and a couple of other guys  
  
from work. You weren't home yet, I was bored, so I went. We  
  
all sat around, played cards, took turns holding Boo,  
  
watched a dumb movie, drank beer. That's ALL."  
  
"That's ALL? That's ALL, she says." Ben griped to thin air.  
  
"So if I call Saint Scully and your daddy's puppet, the  
  
venerated Deputy Mayor Mulder plus all these anomynous  
  
"guys", they'll tell me you were just holding a baby and  
  
playing poker, right?"  
  
"That's right, you son of a bitch."  
  
"You stayed, despite Mulder's presense."  
  
"Because Scully is my friend as well," she growled.  
  
"Because Mulder is important to her, and because he saved  
  
my ass, I tolerate his presense as long as he doesn't say  
  
anything that pisses me off."  
  
"So, if I call all these people, they could swear on a  
  
Bible that you did nothing but hang out... can they also  
  
tell me what time they left and what time you left?"  
  
Jerilyn looked down at her shoes. "They all had work in the  
  
morning, you didn't. You were home at about four in the  
  
morning. Did they stay out that late too? Scully? With her  
  
baby?"  
  
"Ben," Jerilyn said, trying to control her simmering  
  
temper. "Doggett is my partner. I trust him with my life.  
  
But you are my husband. I trust you with my heart and my  
  
soul. I handed those over to you when I changed my last  
  
name. Nothing is going to change that. I stayed over a  
  
little while longer with Doggett. We had a good talk. We  
  
exchanged confidences. He's my friend, and that's all.  
  
You're my husband. YOU'RE the one I came home to. The one  
  
I'll ALWAYS come home to. What are you so afraid of? Why  
  
are you saying these things?"  
  
"Because I think you're full of shit," Ben replied  
  
bitterly. "Because I think you've been lying your ass off  
  
to me and to yourself ever since you met Doggett."  
  
"Doggett is almost fifteen years older than me. For all I  
  
know, he could be my natural father." As an adopted child,  
  
Jerilyn couldn't help but look at men old enough to be her  
  
father and wonder Is it you? Did you help create me?  
  
"So? Mulder is almost three years older than Scully. That  
  
didn't stop them. And gee, for HOW long did Mulder and  
  
Scully claim they were JUST friends?" Ben pointed out.  
  
Too long Al thought.  
  
"There's a slight difference. Neither one of them were  
  
wearing a wedding band when they met. Ben, when I married  
  
you, I married you forever. Better and worse, sickness and  
  
health and all of that yukkity-yuk. No matter how pissed I  
  
get at you, no matter how lonely I get when you're pulling  
  
all-nighters at the office or how scared I am when I go out  
  
on assignment that I might not come home, I am married to  
  
YOU. Nothing is going to change that."  
  
"You're not married to me. You're married to the FBI. I may  
  
as well be a widow."  
  
Jerilyn folded her hands tightly together. "Ben, tell me  
  
what to say. Tell me what you need to hear. Because I  
  
honestly don't know what I'm doing that's so wrong."  
  
"Tell me you love me."  
  
"Ben, that's not even a question. I love you. I love you so  
  
much, it hurts me."  
  
"Tell me you'll stand behind me with whatever I do."  
  
Jerilyn broke away from him and went into the living room.  
  
She held herself and looked out at the window. Ben followed  
  
her and so did Al.  
  
"I can't... go against my conscience if it tells me what  
  
you're doing is wrong," she finally said after an eternity  
  
of silence. "Ben, I know what you think you're doing...  
  
going after the oil rig... is the right thing to do, but  
  
it's not. It's just opening a Pandora's Box, hand-delivered  
  
to us from Hades himself." She turned around. Ben was  
  
surprised to see tears trickling down her cheeks for she  
  
was one who rarely wept, especially in front of others.  
  
"Ben, I found out that they're going to silence your case  
  
by killing you. You say you're a grass-widow. Baby, if you  
  
take this case, you'll be making me a genuine widow and I  
  
can't handle that."  
  
"Jerilyn," he said "who's "they"?"  
  
"I don't know," she confessed. "But it's like a whole...  
  
consortium. A... a.... a Syndicate for lack of a better  
  
name. These people are everywhere, making their plots,  
  
having no concern for the innocent bystanders they take  
  
down in their weird little wars. These are the same people  
  
who ordered that... thing in the park to attack me and I  
  
would be dead if Mulder hadn't been out early that morning.  
  
They kidnap people, they torture... they kill... Ben... I  
  
can't possibly explain it because I don't completely  
  
understand."  
  
"Did it ever cross your mind that they told you this to  
  
scare you? To do what you're doing right now? To talk me  
  
out of this?" Ben touched her face and wiped her tears  
  
away. "Look at what's happening to us. You talk about this  
  
Syndicate, how they've hurt people. What about the X-Files?  
  
Look at what happened with all the people that's been  
  
involved even remotely with that division. They're all dead  
  
or seriously fucked up. I mean... both Scully and Mulder  
  
have been kidnapped and tortured. Do you think they rest  
  
easily at night? They go after monsters and evil men in  
  
dark offices but you never hear about the follow-up. You  
  
never hear about these bastards having their day in court.  
  
That's what I want to do. I want these monsters put away  
  
Jerilyn. Let them rot in the darkest cell so we can get one  
  
with our lives. I mean... look at your "friend" Doggett. He  
  
supposedly only went in to get in good with the Deputy  
  
Director so he can have Skinner's post when he retires.  
  
Now, he seems to be sinking into the myth deeper and  
  
deeper. He's just like the others. Is that what you want?  
  
To be stuck in the basement forever? What happened to  
  
teaching at Quantico? I hear you talking about that less  
  
and less."  
  
"Ben, so much has happened... I've learned so much since  
  
then. Not just about the X-Files, but about myself. Shit  
  
that you wouldn't even believe if I told you. Things I'm  
  
not sure I believe, things I don't want to believe. Things  
  
I thought I didn't want to know, but now I know, I HAVE  
  
to."  
  
Al wished he wasn't a hologram so he could give her a hug.  
  
"I mean, I've always lived this pretty illusion that I'm a  
  
normal all-American girl, but I'm NOT... and you KNOW  
  
that... you've seen the scars on my body... you've heard  
  
all about the time when Mom and I were kidnapped... now...  
  
I think I've finally found a venue where I can find  
  
answers. To find out why I am the way I am."  
  
"You're talking like Mulder."  
  
"Don't insult me like that." But she smiled for the first  
  
time.  
  
"Jerilyn, don't torture yourself like this. Mulder and  
  
Scully searched for this... fucking truth you're talking  
  
about and look where it got them. Do you really... REALLY  
  
want to take the chance of being ousted out of the Bureau  
  
like Mulder was? Do you really want to give up on your  
  
dream of being an instructor at Quantico to chase  
  
smokescreens?"  
  
"What do you suggest I do? Keep pretending that  
  
everything's okay?"  
  
"When I win this case," Ben said carefully. "Mulder will be  
  
cleared of all allegations against him for the explosion."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Then he can be reinstated into the Bureau and back into  
  
the X-Files where he belongs."  
  
"He WAS reinstated, briefly. He's out now because his  
  
health is in question. Scully thinks whoever took him,  
  
wiped out his immune system."  
  
"He had AIDS?"  
  
"NO! It's as if it has no memory. He catches every germ and  
  
virus under the sun, but his white blood cells can still  
  
fight them. Things that we're immune to after having them  
  
once, like influenza or mono, he gets."  
  
"People get the flu all the time."  
  
"No, they get different strains of flu. Once a normal  
  
person catches one strain of flu, after they recover, they  
  
have immunity against it. But new strains of flu come out  
  
all the time. People don't just have "the flu" they are  
  
having a new and interesting variety of a flu their bodies  
  
never had to deal with all the time. Mulder's immunity  
  
system has no memory of what diseases he's already had.  
  
Until they figure out how to fix that, he could be  
  
reinstated."  
  
"But he COULD be reinstated, right?"  
  
"Sure, if he passes the physical... where are you going  
  
with this?"  
  
"They wouldn't need a fourth person there, would they?"  
  
"You want me out of the Bureau." Now Jerilyn was white hot  
  
angry again.  
  
Ben, you idiot Al rubbed his temples.  
  
"Not of the Bureau, just the X-Files. You're all worried  
  
about me, what about you? Your first case and you're almost  
  
killed in not one, but two plane wrecks, you're almost run  
  
off the road, an army lieutenant gives you a hairline  
  
fracture on your upper arm escorting you away from a crime  
  
scene that you had every right to be at and some crazy guy  
  
tries to kill you while you're jogging. And that was your  
  
first case!!! YOU talk about being scared about not coming  
  
home from an assignment? What about me? What do you think  
  
it will do to me if YOU don't come home? Jerilyn, you swore  
  
to me, you promised me that this transfer to DC was just a  
  
stepping stone to Quantico. So we left everything we knew  
  
to come here. And now, instead of using this as a stepping  
  
stone, you're using it as a cornerstone. You know what? I  
  
don't give a damn about the X-Files. I don't care about  
  
Mulder or Scully or Skinner or Doggett or any of them. As  
  
far as I'm concerned, they're using you, they're  
  
manipulating you and they're dragging you down. The longer  
  
you stay, the further away Quantico gets! You said YOU'RE  
  
tired? Know what I'm tired of?"  
  
"Enlighten me."  
  
"I'm tired of laying awake at night, listening you working  
  
away at the computer on some damn case, I'm tired of having  
  
you leave and be gone for unknown amounts of time, God only  
  
knowing when you come home, wondering if you'll come home  
  
at all. I am terrified that one of these days they're going  
  
to ship you home in a body bag. I am tired of living in  
  
limbo, of promises that you'll slow down, take time off,  
  
time for us. And they only way you get that time is you get  
  
mangled in the line of duty and we spend that time putting  
  
the broken bits of you back together, only to have you run  
  
off again on another mission. I don't want that shit  
  
anymore. I want US, I want Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin  
  
Starkweather. Not Benjamin Starkweather, counselor and  
  
Special Agent Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather. I'm tired of  
  
this Jeri. When does it start being about us? When are we  
  
going to BE "us" again? What happened to settling down,  
  
having kids, having house, having a life. All I want is  
  
you, Jerilyn and my life is complete. I can't have... I  
  
don't want Special Agent Starkweather."  
  
Jerilyn scowled at Ben, reminding Al of Ex-Wife Number Two.  
  
"You can't have Jerilyn unless you take Special Agent  
  
Starkweather along with her," she snapped. "And I'm not  
  
leaving the X-Files until I'm good and ready, even if it  
  
means sharing an office with Mulder, who, as of right now,  
  
is only one point ahead of you on my Asshole-Meter." She  
  
pushed away from him.  
  
"Jerilyn-"  
  
"No! You don't want me, you want the beautiful lie I've  
  
been living. I didn't even know that it was a lie until I  
  
came here. What you want isn't real," Jerilyn choked on her  
  
rage and her tears. "The only truth I know is that there's  
  
something out there, hurting people, that I REALLY want to  
  
lay the smackdown on, even if it means going outside the  
  
boundaries of the law... and that I love you... but you  
  
only love what you want to see. And what you want to see...  
  
isn't what you get. I just told you that those  
  
motherfuckers are gonna try to take you out and if you die,  
  
I will die. For the rest of my life without you, I will be  
  
dying on the inside. I am begging you, as a federal agent,  
  
as your wife, as just me, Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather...  
  
please, don't do this! Don't take this case. If you love me  
  
for plain old weird me, don't do this to me!!!"  
  
"Just as you said earlier..." Ben said, painfully slow. "I  
  
can't go against my conscience."  
  
"Then there's nothing more to say," she said quietly "I'm  
  
going to bed, good night" and, scooping up the cat, went to  
  
the bedroom. Ben followed her, but she stopped him at the  
  
door, pillows and a quilt in her arms. "Uh-uh. No. You.  
  
Couch. Get used to it," she dropped the bedding at his feet  
  
and slammed the door.  
  
Al watched Ben make up his bed. "Kid, you blew it," he  
  
muttered as he lit a fresh cigar. He said, aloud now, since  
  
Jerilyn was not in the room, "Goushie! Bring me to Sam!" Al  
  
disappeared.  
  
Meanwhile....  
  
Sam couldn't settle down. After Starkweather left the bar,  
  
with healthy promises of talking Ben out of his suicide  
  
mission, Sam sat there, nursing his one drink, trying to  
  
figure out the next step. By his watch, Ben only had  
  
twenty-four hours before he disappeared. Three days after  
  
his disappearance, he dies. Then Mulder. Then Starkweather.  
  
Then Doggett. Then Skinner. Scully. The Lone Gunmen. And an  
  
agent he hadn't even met yet, Monica Reyes. It didn't make  
  
sense... why would they waste time with a lawyer...  
  
Unless...  
  
Unless it wasn't the lawyer they were going after at all.  
  
That Ben was just a red herring... that the leap wasn't  
  
about saving Mr. Starkweather. It was about saving Mrs.  
  
Starkweather.  
  
But how does she factor into this? Sam wondered. After  
  
Al told him about the 65% chance of blood relations between  
  
Mulder and Starkweather, Sam couldn't help but stare at her  
  
the entire night, partially because she was fairly pretty,  
  
but trying to figure out what DNA tests were to be  
  
inconclusive.  
  
Same wicked sarcasm. Same genius intelligence. Same crinkly  
  
puppy-dog eyes. Same pouty lip. But her skin was very fair,  
  
her hair a soft fawn color and stick straight and her nose  
  
was very Anglo-Saxon, denoting some Scandivian blood in her  
  
heritage. Plus she somewhere along the way picked up a  
  
healthy dose of skepticism that Mulder lacked. Miserably  
  
lacked.  
  
The only conclusion Sam came to was that he was very tired.  
  
He paid the tab and got into Doggett's car. Instead of  
  
driving to Doggett's apartment, he cruised around, still  
  
trying to figure out how he was supposed to stop Ben from  
  
inadvertdently destroying the world.  
  
Sam surfed the radio stations and stumbled across a country  
  
station. He wasn't a fan of country, but when he heard the  
  
svelte voice of country crooner, Martina McBride, who he  
  
didn't remember who she was, he felt himself relax just a  
  
bit as he was swept away by her lyrics:  
  
"You think I'm always makin'  
  
Something out of nothin'  
  
You're saying' everything's okay  
  
You've always got an answer  
  
Before I ask the question  
  
Whatever you say...  
  
Now we can change the subject  
  
Pretend I never brought it up  
  
Same old story anyway  
  
Later we can work it out  
  
Right now we're talked out  
  
Yeah whatever you say  
  
Oh I know you can hear me  
  
But I'm not sure you're listening  
  
I hear what you're sayin'  
  
But still there's something missin'  
  
Whether I go, whether I stay  
  
Right now depends on  
  
Whatever you say  
  
You say yes you need me  
  
And no you wouldn't leave me  
  
And that should be enough to make me stay  
  
And even though I want to  
  
I don't hear 'I love you'  
  
In whatever you say  
  
Oh I know you can hear me  
  
But I'm not sure you're listening  
  
I hear what you're sayin'  
  
But still there's something missin'  
  
Whether I go, whether I stay  
  
Right now depends on  
  
Whatever you say  
  
Whether I go, whether I stay  
  
Right now depends on  
  
Whatever you say...."  
  
"Man, if those weren't truer words tonight," Al said,  
  
suddenly appearing in the backseat.  
  
Sam jumped. "AL!" he complained. "Don't do that!" he  
  
sighed. "Let me get to Doggett's apartment. Then let's  
  
talk."  
  
Al nodded. "Sure. Take a left......"  
  
With Al's help, Sam found his way to Doggett's home. He let  
  
himself in, turned on the lights and flopped onto the  
  
couch. "Well?" Sam asked. "Did you check in on Ben and..."  
  
Sam blanked out for a minute. "What's Starkweather's first  
  
name again?"  
  
"Jerilyn and yeah I popped in on them," Al grumbled.  
  
"Well?" Sam sat up a bit. "Did she talk to him?"  
  
"Oh... they talked," Al said, lighting a new cigar. "And  
  
then she banished him to Sofa-ville."  
  
"Oh, no," Sam groaned.  
  
"Sam," Al said seriously. "I don't see this having a very  
  
happy ending."  
  
"We can't think like that, Al," Sam said seriously. "We got  
  
to think. We've got to... Al, do we know where and when Ben  
  
gets abducted?"  
  
Al punched a few buttons on this little computer console.  
  
"According to police reports, he was last seen in his  
  
office at the law firm of Carter, Adams and Spangle. He  
  
called Jerilyn at five-fifteen, he left the office at five-  
  
thirty, he's found as a floater three days later."  
  
"Okay, okay," Sam was pacing. "Then tomorrow, I will just  
  
have to stick to Ben like glue, especially during the prime  
  
hours. I make sure nothing happens to him. Nothing does  
  
happen, history changes and I..." Sam slowed down. "Leap  
  
out of here..." he muttered as he wandered off in search of  
  
a kitchen.  
  
When Sam got to the kitchen, Al was already waiting for  
  
him. "Whatcha looking for?"  
  
"Glasses. I need a drink," when Al stared at him pointedly,  
  
he amended his statement, "a drink of water."  
  
"Why did you look so down in the mouth when you figured out  
  
a way to leap out of this one?" Al asked suspiciously.  
  
"I am not down in the mouth." Sam got a glass and filled it  
  
with water from the tap.  
  
"Well, you wanna leap outta here, don't ya?" Al asked.  
  
"Sure I do," Sam said. "That's all I ever want, to go  
  
home."  
  
"Well, we'll get you home," Al reassured him. "And we'll  
  
get Doggett home too, he's about ready to go completely  
  
postal on us, stupid Marines. Oh... oh... Sam... about  
  
Doggett."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Ben made some... uh... accusations... tonight that I'm not  
  
quite sure if Mrs. Starkweather answered so honestly."  
  
"What do you mean?" Sam asked. Al gave him a minute to let  
  
the insinuation sink in. "Doggett and STARKWEATHER??? I  
  
don't... no... that can't be right. Where did Ben get that  
  
idea?"  
  
"Well, I don't know Sam, I mean, I don't think they're  
  
doing the mattress mambo yet, even Ben said he doesn't  
  
think that, but Ben thinks that there's something more  
  
between them because the little missus has been spending  
  
alot of time with her partner and I don't mean Ben."  
  
"Oh," was all Sam said.  
  
OH???" Al spluttered. "'Oh', he says. I just told you that  
  
Doggett, who's bod you're in right now, is not in good with  
  
Benny because he thinks his wife is making goo-goo eyes at  
  
Doggett and all you can say is 'OH?'"  
  
"Well is she?" Sam asked.  
  
"Is she what?"  
  
"Making...as you so aptly put it...goo-goo eyes at Doggett?"  
  
"How should I know?" Al snapped. "I haven't talked to Mr.  
  
The Few, The Proud, The Mentally Deficient in a few hours  
  
and when I talked to him last, it was while the doc was  
  
stitching up YOUR head because HE decided it would be a  
  
good idea to bust through the two way mirror. Anyway,  
  
couldn't YOU tell when you were talking to the little lady  
  
yourself earlier tonight?"  
  
"I don't know," Sam mumbled. "I mean, I can tell she trusts  
  
me... uh Doggett and... um..." Sam paced a bit in the  
  
kitchen. "She's an incredible person Al. She's smart, she's  
  
funny, she's strong and she's straight as an arrow. I mean,  
  
I can't picture her being unfaithful to Ben. It's not in  
  
her." Sam dumped out the remaining water in his glass. "But  
  
she's not as tough as she likes people to think she is.  
  
Underneath it all, she's sweet and gentle, Al, there's an  
  
angel underneath all that piss and fire she shrouds herself  
  
in."  
  
"Shrouds herself????" Al said, mouth hanging open. "Since  
  
when are YOU a poet?"  
  
"I'm not," Sam felt a blush crossing Doggett's cheeks.  
  
"Aw nooooooooooooooooo," Al groaned. "I don't believe this  
  
is happening."  
  
"What?" Sam snapped defensively.  
  
"You like her."  
  
"Of course I like her."  
  
"No, you LIKE like her."  
  
"What is this, junior high?"  
  
"You," Al began circling his best friend. "Have the hots  
  
for that little hurricane."  
  
"Do not," Sam grumbled. "I just... I just hope I don't  
  
forget her when I leap out of here."  
  
"I wouldn't worry about that one." Al said, "Women like  
  
her, women like her and Scully don't let you forget them.  
  
They stay with you forever, even if it's only in dreams."  
  
"Now who's the poet?"  
  
"Ahhh," Al grumbled, opening the door back into the future.  
  
"Get some sleep. You're gonna need it for tomorrow. Just be  
  
sure you're thinking with the head on your SHOULDERS  
  
tomorrow," was Al's parting shot when he stepped out the  
  
glowing door.  
  
"Funny," Sam said when the door closed. He went to lay down  
  
on the couch. He grabbed the remote and turned on the  
  
stereo for background noise.  
  
"Darkness falls and she will take me  
  
by the hand  
  
Take me to some twilight land  
  
Where all but love is gray  
  
Where time just slips away  
  
Without her as my guide  
  
Night falls I'm cast beneath her spell  
  
Daylight comes our heaven's torn to hell  
  
Am I left here to burn  
  
and burn eternally  
  
She's a mystery to me..."  
  
Sam closed his eyes and felt himself slip away to a  
  
twilight land...  
  
Sam fell into a troubled sleep...  
  
He opened his eyes and found himself sitting a car, similar  
  
to the one he had before he made his maiden leap into the  
  
past. He looked around and somehow knew that he was still  
  
in Washington DC, or actually, a nice, middle class suburb.  
  
More accurately, he was sitting in the driveway of a modest  
  
one story house, tastefully, understatedly decorated, but  
  
one where children ruled for toys littered the meticulously  
  
manicured yard and a basketball hoop hung over the garage.  
  
Sam got out of car and walked around a bit, admiring the  
  
neatly pruned rosebushes. Two little boys, on bicycles  
  
wheeled past on the sidewalk. One of the boys, not more  
  
than eight or nine, stopped in front of the driveway, near  
  
where Sam stood and yelled at his friends. "I gotta go,  
  
Will, I'll see ya after supper!" he yelled lustily. His  
  
little friend waved and rode away.  
  
The small boy unceremoniously dumped his bike on the grass  
  
and even before he ran for him, Sam could see that the  
  
child was undeniably Starkweather's. Same crinkly hazel  
  
eyes, same elfin face. Dark mocha brown hair though, with a  
  
colic. The child flung himself at him. "Hi Dad!" he said  
  
happily.  
  
Sam, as if it was most natural thing in the world, swung  
  
the boy up in the air, "Hey, you, what's goin' on?" Sam  
  
asked brightly.  
  
"Dad, Will's havin' a sleepover at his house tonight. We're  
  
gonna watch movies and eat popcorn and play video games on  
  
Will's new Playstation 4 and Aunt Dana already said it was  
  
okay, can I go, please Dad? I promise I won't be a pain for  
  
Aunt Dana, please??? Uncle Fox is gonna be there and he  
  
said he was gonna play video games with us, please Dad, can  
  
I, huh? Can I go?"  
  
"Well, let's see what your mother says, but I think it'll  
  
be okay," Sam put the boy down, took the child by the hand  
  
and went into the house.  
  
The living room was spacious and comfortably furnished, but  
  
again, kids rules. Sam stepped on a teddy bear by accident  
  
before calling out "Doc? Hey Doc, I'm home!"  
  
A petite woman came out of the kitchen, drying her hands  
  
with a dish towel and despite the shoulder length dark  
  
brown hair and the tiniest hint of crows' feet by her eyes  
  
and laugh lines by her mouth, Sam knew it was Starkweather.  
  
"Hey, you're early, shock and surprise," she deadpanned as  
  
she crossed over the toy strewn living room to give Sam a  
  
deep, long kiss.  
  
"Ewwww," the boy covered his eyes.  
  
"Oh, stop," Starkweather crouched to the boy's height.  
  
"Look at you," she said as she did a totally "Mom-thing" by  
  
licking her fingers and trying to rub dirt smudges off his  
  
face. "J.B., what devilment have you and your cousin been  
  
up to?"  
  
"Nothin', honest!" he protested in wide-eyed innocence as  
  
he wiped "Mom-spit" off his face. "Just playin' and ridin'  
  
bikes."  
  
"And getting dirty," She said lovingly.  
  
"Mom, Will said I could sleep at his house tonight, Dad  
  
already said it was okay if you said okay. Is it okay? Can  
  
I go?"  
  
"'May' you go, and yes, baby, it's okay. Your Aunt Dana  
  
already called-"  
  
"Alright!"  
  
"-and invited you and your sister."  
  
"Aw, man," the boy pouted. "We don't want any dumb girls  
  
there."  
  
"Hey mister," Starkweather said sternly. "Since when do we  
  
talk that way about our twin sister? Bailey's just going to  
  
stay for movies and popcorn. She already said she wants to  
  
come back home tonight. Now, go wash up for supper. You  
  
stink." She kissed the top of his dirty head.  
  
The boy scampered off. Starkweather shrugged. "So much for  
  
our night alone, but Bailey is so attached to that new  
  
kitten Mulder got her she doesn't want to leave it along  
  
for one night. She named him Fox, after him, isn't that  
  
revoltingly cute?"  
  
Sam laughed. "Well, it was nice of Mulder to give her that  
  
kitten. She was so broken up when Caesar died."  
  
"She wasn't the only one, poor old cat," Starkweather wound  
  
herself around Sam. "But, at least we'll have a couple of  
  
hours of 'grown-up' time while the kids are out." She  
  
kissed him again and Sam felt completed, whole, with her in  
  
his arms. She broke away and Sam felt a small part of him  
  
die with even that tiny separation. "Hang on a sec, I'll  
  
call her inside, she's out back with that kitten, I mean,  
  
Jiminy Christmas, I'm almost afraid she's going to love  
  
that poor hairball to death, it's so little." She went to  
  
the kitchen, Sam following.  
  
"Bailey!" Starkweather shouted out the back door, "Come  
  
into house, Dad's home!" Starkweather went back to the  
  
counter to finish slicing tomatoes for the salad she was  
  
working on. Sam sat at the kitchen table, waiting for his  
  
daughter.  
  
A little girl came to the door, with a small white kitten  
  
in a strangle hold. Sam felt his heart stop.  
  
The girl had piercing crystalline blue eyes and wavy blond  
  
hair. "Daddy," she said, crawling into his lap. "I missed  
  
you so much, see what Uncle Fox got me?" she held the  
  
kitten up for his approval.  
  
Sam looked over the child's head at his reflection in the  
  
toaster. John Doggett's face, aged nine years, stared back  
  
at him.  
  
Starkweather turned to him. "Hey," she asked, forehead  
  
crinkled in concern. "What's wrong, Papa John?"  
  
Sam woke up with a start. He looked around to find himself  
  
in John Doggett's bedroom. He made his way to the bathroom  
  
to splash cold water in his face. He looked up into the  
  
mirror. John Doggett's face stared back at him. Sam touched  
  
the reflection with dripping wet fingers. "God," he prayed.  
  
"Please let my next leap be the leap home. I can't do this  
  
anymore..."  
  
The shrill ring of the phone bolted Sam from Doggett's bed.  
  
He glanced over at the alarm clock, which almost screamed  
  
2:24am.  
  
"Hey Doggett," came a familiar voice on the other end, it  
  
took Sam a second in the fog of sleepiness to remember  
  
exactly who the voice belonged to. "Hey listen, the boys  
  
found something ya might wanna take a look  
  
at. I didn't wanna call Scully away from Will,  
  
Starkweather's phone is off the hook, I can't get hold of  
  
either Skinner or Reyes."  
  
"Glad to be a last resort." He heard himself grumbling. "It  
  
couldn't hold till morning?" Sam whined. Part of him really  
  
wanted to get back to that dream, even if it wasn't his own  
  
life. He needed to get home--and soon--if he was starting  
  
to even dream vicariously.  
  
"Yeah, but then I wouldn't get the fun of turning you into  
  
an insomniac. All-nighters come with the territory of that  
  
basement office." Mulder retorted  
  
Sam sighed defeatedly. "You know you are fucking impossible  
  
sometimes." Sam heard himself gruff into the receiver,  
  
surprised by his own vulgarity.  
  
"Impossible people do impossible things, Puppy Man."  
  
"It better be damn important, Mulder."  
  
"If we're gonna keep the x-files up and running, this is  
  
pretty big news. I dropped by my apartment anyway to get  
  
some things I needed. I'll be over in a few minutes. See ya  
  
in a few."  
  
Part of Mulder's conversation made Sam jolt out of his fog.  
  
Who the hell were "the boys?"  
  
"Al! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!" Sam called out into the air.  
  
Pretty soon, the thin blue light of the chamber door  
  
appeared and Al's swanky form graced the doorway.  
  
"Who are the boys?"  
  
"Oh great...not the Lone Gungeeks!" Al groaned. "I think  
  
those guys have been beamed up one too many times. They're  
  
three hacker friends of Mulder's who write a newsletter  
  
called The Lone Gunmen. Your last leap, Doggett enlisted  
  
their help. One of them wanted to be beamed up, and another  
  
called Ziggy and I quote..."a million megabytes of  
  
megabitch," and another one fell in love with her."  
  
"So they're a bit off the beaten path...they can't be that  
  
bad." Sam attempted to be optomistic. "Mulder and I are  
  
headed over to their place in a few minutes. He's on his  
  
way."  
  
"Just don't look too shocked or surprised by what you see  
  
when you get to their place."  
  
"Any change in the USMC data system or new light on who  
  
kills Mr. Starkweather?"  
  
"According to police reports, blood was found in Mulder's  
  
car matching Starkweather's type, making him a suspect. No  
  
change on the USMC data system. I think the info Mulder's  
  
dug up has something to do with that, though."  
  
"What if I get him to go away for a weekend, or maybe get  
  
the sparkplug so the car won't start?" Sam brainstormed,  
  
shoveling tennishoes into unsocked feet.  
  
"Not a bad idea, Sam. See what you can do. Meanwhile, find  
  
a way to get close to Bennyboy so he won't get fed to the  
  
fishes in a few days."  
  
"I dunno if I can do that, Al. He already thinks I'm after  
  
his wife. Why would Doggett spend quality time with a  
  
coworker's husband who hates his guts?"  
  
"Well, try...because if you can stop him from getting  
  
killed, we may just be able to get you home."  
  
Sam's face got serious for a minute.  
  
"Al, I have a life back home, don't I?" He sounded almost  
  
like a little kid, asking a parent about camp or  
  
kindergarten.  
  
"Sure you do. It'll be your fifteen minutes after you get  
  
back, and everyone's doing their damndest to make sure that  
  
happens."  
  
"I know...thanks." Sam said quietly. "You better get outta  
  
here. If Starkweather can hear you, odds are Mulder can,  
  
too, and he'll be here any minute."  
  
"Hey, you're right. I'll see ya later. Lemme know what the  
  
boys find out, and try and find a way to stick to Benny no  
  
matter what it takes! I don't care if you hafta kidnap the  
  
yutz. Do it!" Al shouted and was out of sight just in time  
  
for the doorbell to ring.  
  
"Morning, Dogbreath." Mulder chirpped. Sam only flashed him  
  
a warning look.  
  
"I don't give a damn if the x-files stay open, Mulder. I'm  
  
too old to be pulling all-nighters."  
  
"This isn't about the x-files, Doggett. It's about those  
  
people that died on that oil rig, and it's about our  
  
freedom and safety. Starkweather was right. If we have to  
  
testify, we are fair game. I've got way too much to loose  
  
these days."  
  
"So that's why you're digging up information?"  
  
"Not exactly. I can't explain it about Starkweather..."  
  
"...say no more, Mulder. I know what you mean."  
  
"Don't tell me you have the hots for that little  
  
hurricane!"  
  
Sometimes it was just plain spooky how much alike Mulder  
  
and Al were.  
  
Sam felt that the comment justified only a warning glare.  
  
"That's not what I meant, anyway...I feel like I need to  
  
protect her--like I used to feel like I needed to protect  
  
Samantha."  
  
"Maybe you just somehow displace Starkweather with  
  
Samantha. You're the psychiatrist--you know about all that  
  
Freudian crap better than I do."  
  
"Interesting theory, Puppy Man. Anyway, so much for  
  
theorizing. We're here."  
  
They live in a warehouse? Sam inwardly sputtered, trying  
  
to conseal the quizzical expression on his face.  
  
"Doggett? You okay?"  
  
"Yeah...just haven't woken up yet, is all."  
  
"Alright. Let's see what the three stooges have found for  
  
us."  
  
Something about the way the warehouse was concealed told  
  
Sam that being a man who had been in the Gunmen's warehouse  
  
would be the acting assignment of a lifetime.  
  
3:19 AM  
  
Tacoma Park Falls, MD  
  
TLG Lair  
  
As Mulder pulled up to the back of the warehouse, Sam  
  
wondered why they were stopping. He wanted to clue  
  
Starkweather in on what they were researching tonight, but  
  
decided against it. He had caused enough trouble between  
  
the Starkwaethers. Luckily, Mulder's lanky form was a few  
  
steps ahead so Sam had no trouble hiding the quizzical  
  
expression that seemed to plastered on his face around Fox  
  
Mulder. Surely nobody lived here...there were no gutters  
  
for running water, and no apparent lights on inside.  
  
"It's us." Mulder said simply up into a security camera  
  
that Sam didn't notice until then.  
  
After a few awkward minutes, Sam was grateful to hear the  
  
click of the deadbolt...and a little puzzled as to why he  
  
heard eleven more clicks of apparently eleven more  
  
deadbolts.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Frohike." Mulder said to the stocky man  
  
on the other side of the door. He was decidedly odd looking  
  
in thin-rimmed owlish glasses framing an unshaven face, and  
  
from his peppery greasy hair, he looked to be in desperate  
  
need of a shower.  
  
"Little late for that, isn't it, Mulder?" Frohike grumbled,  
  
and let them in.  
  
"Well, I missed it last time, remember?" Mulder prompted,  
  
and handed him the folder he carried.  
  
"Shit, I forgot. In that case, Happy Hanukah buddy. Now  
  
where's my New Years' kiss?"  
  
"Not on your life, Fro." Mulder growled and took one of the  
  
hundreds of laptops off the mile-high shelves in the back  
  
of the warehouse, where a young bearded man in a suit was  
  
obviously looking at some sort of scanner.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Doggett," said a young bearded man in a  
  
suit, "your electromagnetic readings on the security cam  
  
are through the roof."  
  
Sam wondered briefly if he wasn't brought in as a  
  
consultant--surely he couldn't be the third lone gunmen.  
  
"I think Dogman's been standing too close to the microwave  
  
these days, Byers."  
  
"Sorry you hadda be drug out here at this hour." Byers  
  
apologized. "We're doing all we can to help the situation."  
  
Sam nodded a thanks.  
  
"...most of this stuff wasn't even on the market when I  
  
left..." Sam said in quiet awe looking around the lair.  
  
"When you left where?" Piped up a man with blond stringy  
  
hair from behind a large computer. The glare from the  
  
screen gave his already pale skin almost a green  
  
complexion. "The psych ward?"  
  
"Take it easy on him, Langley. It's not his fault--I tell  
  
ya, Mulder, it's that FBI coffee." Frohike was saying,  
  
hunched over Langley. "I knew they put some sort of mind-  
  
deterioration drug in that sh*t. G-Dog, bring it up here,  
  
and we'll run some tests on it. It'll be fun."  
  
"So why was I brought here?" Sam asked, choosing to ignore  
  
the remarks at his expense.  
  
"Well, since my new position is about as mind-numbing as  
  
watching C-Span, I did some digging this afternoon.  
  
Apparently, there was a number called to one of the highest  
  
offices of the FBI exactly 36 times both prior to, during,  
  
and immediately after our investigation. I'm pooling our  
  
resources, trying to figure out exactly who in the FBI was  
  
making those calls, and who was doing the calling. If we  
  
can find those out, then maybe you, Scully, Reyes, and  
  
Starkweather can head up the investigation from there." It  
  
killed him that he couldn't be part of the chase anymore.  
  
"Starkweather found several AFB's with unexplained crashes  
  
like the one we nearly experienced in Edinborrough. You  
  
probably couldn't reach her on the phone earlier because  
  
I'll be willing to bet she was doing some digging of her  
  
own. She's looking tonight for connections between the oil  
  
company in the Gulf and those marine bases."  
  
"I've got a lock on that address, guys." Langley piped up  
  
triumphantly. "It's a payphone on Penn Avenue, and on the  
  
same corner as a bank."  
  
Sam took a laptop off the computer, and the four other men  
  
in the warehouse exchanged puzzled looks.  
  
"What in the name of Bill Gates and all that is Holy do you  
  
think you are doing?" Frohike sputtered.  
  
"I'm...uh...hooking this up to your mother board to see if  
  
I can find the shareholders for that oil company."  
  
The four were all still staring at Sam open-mouthed.  
  
"Gomer, since when did you start hacking? I didn't think  
  
Marines had time to score free porn."  
  
"I used to build computers and I configured a data system."  
  
"In the marines?" Mulder finished. Sam nodded.  
  
"Cool! He's one of us." Langley murmured in admiration. Sam  
  
was torn between being flattered and worried.  
  
Meanwhile  
  
Back to the future  
  
Quantum Leap HQ  
  
Al found himself pausing in front of the chamber where  
  
Doggett-in-Sam's body stayed. He could hear the hammers  
  
while Goushie and some other techs he didn't know very well  
  
were putting plywood in place of the mirror that Doggett  
  
had thoughtfully shattered for them. He looked at the kid,  
  
barely old enough to shave, but old enough to wear military  
  
fatigues and to hold a gun that outweighed him. "Howya  
  
doin'?" Al said in a defeated voice.  
  
"Sir, lousy, sir," the young man replied formally.  
  
Al grinned. At least the kid's sense of humor hadn't been  
  
completely stomped out of him. Al punched in his code and  
  
the door swooshed open.  
  
Doggett was sitting at the table, picking at the dinner  
  
they had brought for him, by request. He finished his  
  
mouthful of corn before he asked. "So, is this my last  
  
meal?"  
  
Al looked at the demolished plate of fried catfish, mustard  
  
greens, silver queen corn on the cob, homemade macaroni and  
  
cheese plus the untouched plate of peach cobbler and the  
  
half-empty glass of sweet tea and felt his stomach growl.  
  
However he was dreaming of a heaping plate of linguine with  
  
a side of chicken breast, drowning in a fine tomato sauce  
  
with a big bottle of red wine. He knew he was going to be  
  
eating take-out tonight though.  
  
Al pulled up a chair and said "You really think we're going  
  
to kill you?"  
  
Doggett shrugged. "I don't know what to think."  
  
"Listen, Doggett," Al sat down, "we don't have much time  
  
here. The big clock is ticking and I don't know how to get  
  
you to trust me, so I'm just gonna have to lay it on the  
  
line for you.  
  
"Alright," Doggett said, pushing his food away, giving his  
  
total attention to Al. "Lay it out for me," he drawled out  
  
condescendingly.  
  
Al bridled but kept his cool. "Someone is gunning for Mr.  
  
Starkweather," he said "and I don't think he will let Sam  
  
help him out of the mess he's gotten himself in."  
  
"Why not?" Doggett asked, feeling his cop instincts kicking  
  
in.  
  
"Because Ben thinks you are one step away from boinking his  
  
wife."  
  
"WHAT??"  
  
Al studied Doggett before he went on. The look of shock and  
  
indigation on Doggett-with-Sam's face had been too quick to  
  
be faked. But still, with what Ben accused Jerilyn of  
  
earlier that night, with what little she had offered as  
  
defense, Al had to know. Ben's life may depend on it.  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"Am I what?"  
  
"You know... you... Starkweather... heavy breathing?"  
  
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Doggett bolted up, completely  
  
infuriated by now. "What kind of soap opera bullshit is  
  
this?"  
  
"Look, like it or not, believe me or not, but Sam is  
  
parading around in your body. If Ben believe that you and  
  
his missus are partners in every sense of the word, it's  
  
gonna be next than impossible for Same to help him unless  
  
we know how to tiptoe around Ben's ego so tell me straight  
  
up right now, you and Starkweather. Are you or aren't you?"  
  
Al persisted.  
  
Doggett crossed his arms. "We are not having an affair," he  
  
said coldly. "That is insulting to me, to Starkweather, to  
  
our work relationship and our friendship."  
  
Do you have feelings for her?"  
  
"What???" Now Doggett sounded disgusted.  
  
"Don't look at me like I'm nutso," Al snapped back. "I'm  
  
not dead yet and I'm surely not blind. Girl's got a nice  
  
shape to her, pretty eyes, and that hair! Oh my God in  
  
heaven, I saw her tonight with her hair down, why does she  
  
punish such lovely hair by putting it up in those God-awful  
  
uptight hairdos at work?"  
  
"Quit it," Doggett growled.  
  
"And the girl's smart as a whip, loyal as a dog and a heart  
  
of gold. Any man would be a fool not to notice," Al said  
  
seriously. "Especially a man who works as closely as you  
  
two do."  
  
"You make it sound like I'm up for a spot on The Dating Game,"  
  
Doggett said evenly. "I've known Starkweather for less than  
  
two months. We've only worked one case."  
  
"Two months huh?" Al said. "And yet you guys are comfy  
  
enough to spend a late night alone after your little poker  
  
party broke up." Doggett fell silent. "You aren't  
  
protecting Starkweather's honor if you're holding back.  
  
What you say stays here. But I gotta know if there's any  
  
reason for Ben being jealous of you other than the fact  
  
that he's an insecure prick. Personally, I think their  
  
marriage was in the toilet LONG before you were in the  
  
picture and Ben is just using you as an excuse but still. I  
  
gotta know right now how you feel for that little Hurricane  
  
so I can tell Sam what to do, how to behave around both Ben  
  
AND Jerilyn. The sooner Sam knows that, the sooner he does  
  
his job, the sooner you get out of here and it would be  
  
like none of this ever happened."  
  
Doggett, sighed, his shoulders slumped.  
  
When did my job become a friggin' soap opera.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Ben and Jerilyn's apartment  
  
2:26 AM  
  
Ben tossed and turned on the lumpy sofa bed couch he had  
  
unfolded for himself. Eventually, he gave up on sleep,  
  
swung himself up and reached for his cigarettes. Lighting  
  
up, he looked at the Zippo he held in his hand. Jerilyn had  
  
given it to him while they were dating. No special reason,  
  
she said. "If you're going to pollute the air, your lungs  
  
and me, you might as well look classy doing it," she had  
  
said airily while he had unwrapped the paper from the tiny  
  
package. Two months later he had scrounged up enough money  
  
for the down payment for the diamond solitaire she wore on  
  
her left finger.  
  
"Christ," he muttered. Still puffing on his cigarette, he  
  
wandered down the hall towards the bedroom he was banished  
  
from. He scootched the door open a bit and peeked in.  
  
Jerilyn was curled up in the fetal position, as usual. She  
  
had kicked off all the covers, as usual. The cat was  
  
sleeping in the crook of her bare legs, as usual. Ben  
  
tiptoed in and hovered over her, helplessly. He reached out  
  
as if he was about to move a long lock of her hair out of  
  
her sleeping face, looking so deceivingly innocent, but he  
  
stopped himself and turned away to go out on the balcony.  
  
Outside, taking another Morley out of his pack, he looked  
  
out at the city he felt like such an alien in. The East  
  
Coast was a whole new world to that Midwestern boy and he  
  
wasn't sure he liked it. No, he KNEW he didn't like it, but  
  
at the time, it seemed like such an opportunity for  
  
Jerilyn. A toe in the door in Washington, a chance to clean  
  
up the somewhat blotted record she earned at the  
  
Minneapolis Field Office because her partner and her boss  
  
either didn't like her intellect, her femininity or both.  
  
It was either transfer to DC or have those years spent at  
  
Quantico, go to waste. Ben thought the sacrifice wasn't  
  
that great for him to make.  
  
Now he found it unbearable. He tried to hide his  
  
homesickness from his wife, she of the military moveabout  
  
life, knew nothing about roots, lifelong neighbors,  
  
friendships maintained from kindergarten. He still found  
  
himself wandering the streets of Washington like a tourist,  
  
treating the nation's capital like a vacation instead of  
  
home. Once he learned of the nature of the X-Files, he had  
  
breathed a sigh of relief. Jerilyn was not prone to flights  
  
of fancy.  
  
Ben sincerely believed his wife when she told him that the  
  
X-Files was just a stepping stone to something bigger and  
  
greater. At the time, she desperately dreamed of being an  
  
instructor at Quantico. Like an good soldier's daughter,  
  
she plotted her life in an intricate battle plan. One, two  
  
years maximum tour of duty in the X-Files, clean up her  
  
blotted record, then request a transfer to the Violent  
  
Crimes Division (VICAP). Three years in the field for  
  
VICAP. No more, no less. Then wait patiently for a teaching  
  
opening at her mecca, her Holy Land. She preferred a  
  
position in forensics, her specialty, but profiling would  
  
suit her just as well. Ben went along with her, on the  
  
surface, supporting his wife and anxious to see the world  
  
beyond the Midwest, but deep down in darkness where he held  
  
secrets he didn't even know existed, he had hoped that  
  
Jerilyn would get tired of the political bullshit of DC and  
  
would want to return to the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes or  
  
even the Land Between Two Rivers, he really hadn't minded  
  
Iowa all that much during the seven years he spent their  
  
for the Air National Guard and for college and law school.  
  
He completely did not expect Jerilyn to completely immerse  
  
herself into the X-Files. She had only been on one case so  
  
far, which took her to Scotland of all places and had  
  
nearly been killed, not once, not twice, not even three  
  
times, but four times. He didn't expect his wanderlusting  
  
wife, child of perpetually moving military family to sink  
  
her roots down in the capital and call DC "home." Ben had  
  
prepared himself to spend five years in Washington, then  
  
possibly ten more in Virginia, moving closer to Quantico...  
  
but he always pictured himself and Jerilyn moving back to  
  
Minnesota, buying a house on a lake, opening it up during  
  
the summer for the children and grandchildren he was  
  
beginning to wonder if he would ever have.  
  
That was the clincher. Ben was not a bad guy, he was just  
  
an ordinary guy, a "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" type of  
  
guy, but at the end of the movie, Mr. Smith eventually  
  
returned home from Washington. He wanted his law practice,  
  
he wanted a wife, he wanted kids, he wanted the two-story  
  
house like his parents had and the white picket fence, a  
  
cat and a dog.  
  
**Well, I've got the cat,** Ben told himself, tongue in  
  
cheek as he smoked from his balcony while Jerilyn slept on  
  
inside. He had also hoped that once he and Jerilyn started  
  
to have children, Jerilyn would rethink about being in such  
  
a dangerous profession. Dead wives also make lousy mothers.  
  
He snorted in disgust as he remembered their fight earlier  
  
that night. He scoffed at the notion that he was in danger.  
  
He didn't understand what the big deal was. It was not a  
  
mob case. It was not a war crime case. It was a stinking  
  
little environmental case that the only winners from the  
  
legal battle was going to be the lawyers. Ben groaned. Did  
  
Jerilyn not understand how much money he was going to walk  
  
away from this? He was a rookie lawyer who, after landing  
  
this case, was told to bill the clients, the benevolent  
  
government of the United States of America, $150 an hour.  
  
He had already put in twenty-five hours on the case,  
  
bringing the pre-tax total up to $3750, which the firm  
  
advanced him in a pretty check that was folded up in Ben's  
  
wallet. Ben, child of a homemaker and a grammar school  
  
principal, had never imagined making so much money at once.  
  
It was one of the more compelling reasons why he went into  
  
law. He was on his way to becoming a wealthy man, a wealthy  
  
man who only wanted to spend his money on his family.  
  
Before the scene in Skinner's office today, he was  
  
daydreaming about what he was going to do with all that  
  
lovely money once the case was over and done with. He would  
  
send some to his parents because his dad was always talking  
  
about buying a new little fishing boat, but never had the  
  
cash on hand. He would buy little gifts for the spoiled  
  
rotten bratty children of his older sister. He would buy a  
  
new car for Jerilyn so they wouldn't have to share the POS  
  
Dodge they both have been driving around for two years now.  
  
He wanted to get a new motorcycle and let Jerilyn keep the  
  
little Suzuki they had now. He wanted to put a down payment  
  
on a nice house in one of Washington's finer suburbs. He  
  
wanted the life of a well-to-do upper class ordinary man.  
  
To have this, he realized with a sinking heart, he would  
  
also have to have an ordinary woman to be his wife and  
  
Jerilyn was less than ordinary. Ben paused to think how  
  
relations had been steadily deteriorating, long before  
  
their move to Washington, long before the tragic  
  
miscarriage Jerilyn suffered a while ago. Almost two years  
  
too late, Ben made the horrible realization that he married  
  
the wrong woman. She was too fiery, too unpredictable, too  
  
ambitious, too stubborn, too wild for a simple hearted man  
  
like him. He cringed at the idea of divorce, being a good  
  
Catholic boy but also because he loathed to concede defeat.  
  
At anything.  
  
Which made him a good lawyer. But still,  
  
sitting alone in his office working on his legal strategies  
  
or in his apartment, watching the Twins play ball, sipping  
  
beer, divorce was beginning to sound less and less heinous.  
  
He was alone all the time anyway, with Jerilyn cooped up in  
  
the hellhole the FBI laughingly called "the X-Files office"  
  
or when the same said FBI sent her off on another snipe  
  
hunt that put her life on the line one more time, putting  
  
her right in front of a gun, a poison, a bomb, a speeding  
  
van, a crashing plane... being a divorcee seemed infinitely  
  
more appealing than waiting to be a childless widow.  
  
There was just one problem though.  
  
He loved her.  
  
TLG Lair  
  
4:17 AM  
  
"If I can find the stockholder's list, maybe we'll get  
  
lucky."  
  
"If this is your idea of getting lucky--" Mulder started  
  
"Shuddup, Mulder." Sam grumbled, having about all he could  
  
take of Mulder's snide remarks.  
  
"Sorry Doggett." Mulder said sheepishly, "my smart-ass-  
  
ometer is in direct correllation to my stress level."  
  
"I know, Mulder. Believe it or not, I'm on your side here.  
  
I've got people working for me on another end on our side"  
  
"Doggett, we need Knowell working for this situation like  
  
you need a hole in your head."  
  
Knowell! Who's Knowell?! "It's *NOT* Knowell. Believe me,  
  
these friends are on the level. I trust my life with them  
  
as much as you trust your life with Scully. The whole world  
  
is not out to get you, Mulder."  
  
"Well, I hope you meant what you said about trusting these  
  
friends, because the future of the x-files depends on it."  
  
"The x-files is my job now; I'm not about to let you or  
  
Scully down, and as long as it's in my power, I won't let  
  
the x-files close. Understood?" Your life depends on them,  
  
too, Mulder. Sam silently added, and continued to key in  
  
data, hoping that what he said got through to Mulder.  
  
"Shizayum." Langly said quietly about an hour later. "I've  
  
got something here you boys might wanna take a look at."  
  
The four crouched around the huge computer screen. "Look  
  
who owns 5K of shares in the oil company...about halfway  
  
down the list of shareholders." 


	4. Into the Fire

"That explains a whole damn lot. No wonder the b*stard got  
  
jumpy when we wanted to investigate." Mulder growled, his  
  
voice growing steadily louder. "Dammit...I can't BELIEVE I  
  
was fired over a STUPID CONFLICT OF INTEREST!" He said,  
  
banging his head in slow repetative motion on the top of  
  
Langly's computer.  
  
"Not too hard, buddy, you'll break the equipment." Langly  
  
nasalled.  
  
Halfway down the list earning nearly 2 million in dividends  
  
every year in stock of a certain oil company based in the  
  
Gulf of Mexico was Deputy Director Kersh.  
  
Sam whipped out his cell phone.  
  
"Who are you calling?" Mulder asked from his station.  
  
"The Ghostbusters." Sam deadpanned. "I'm calling  
  
Starkweather. She needs to know about this mess before she  
  
goes to work in the morning." He hit the last button on  
  
Doggett's cell-phone, figuring that was the last person he  
  
would have added to the list.  
  
"Doggett, what early bird bit *your* wormy ass at this  
  
hour? God! The grass isn't even up yet."  
  
"Look, I'm sorry about the hour, but we've been digging all  
  
night, and there's something you should know about before  
  
you leave for the office."  
  
"I'll bring the doughnuts."  
  
"Kersh is in on it."  
  
"Fuckin' A!" Starkweather murmured, bolting upright. "How?"  
  
"I'll explain later...Scully'll pick you up for breakfast,  
  
in a couple of hours and we'll discuss what we'll do then."  
  
Starkweather hung up the phone, and sat still on the bed,  
  
half-heartedly praying that this whole night was nothing  
  
more than a bad dream. Needing to clear her head, she  
  
decided to plait her hair in braids and change into more  
  
suitable clothes for jogging.  
  
"Ben?" She called out, timidly opening the bedroom door.  
  
"Hey listen I--" She stopped in mid-sentence when she saw  
  
that the couch hadn't been slept on, and Ben was nowhere to  
  
be found.  
  
"Sonuvabitch musta gotten a hotel room." She growled. "I  
  
hope the clerk didn't speak fucking English and the people  
  
next door were having REALLY loud sex ALL night long." She  
  
ranted, forgetting the hour. She got a bottle of water,  
  
then went back for an extra one. She was going to need to  
  
run across the country to clear her head of last nights  
  
disasters...but she would have to settle for as long as  
  
rush hour traffic would allow her.  
  
Back at the TLG lair, Sam hung up the phone. "She took that  
  
well." Sam chagrinned.  
  
"Mulder, you wanna call Scully?"  
  
"Wait to call Scully for another hour, Doggett, unless you  
  
wanna face her wrath. She'd kill both of us if we woke up  
  
Will."  
  
Deciding he was right, Sam resigned himself to try and find  
  
any connections he could with the oil company and the  
  
AFB's.  
  
an hour later...  
  
"Boys, we're not getting anywhere on this." Mulder sighed  
  
defeatedly, glancing at his watch. "We might as well give  
  
it a rest for a while."  
  
"Mulder, you think the caller would be likely to use the  
  
payphone again any time soon?" Sam asked, downing a gulp of  
  
coffee. If I'm even thinking of volunteering for this,  
  
that has got to be a sure sign of psychosis due to sleep  
  
deprivation. He thought, hoping silently that Mulder  
  
wouldn't think the caller would be back.  
  
"They could be." Mulder said quietly after a moment of  
  
thoughtful silence. "It's a big possibility--especially  
  
with the trial coming up." For the first time that night,  
  
Mulder seemed hopeful.  
  
The gunmen all exchanged tortured glances, and then  
  
silently made the decision for Byers to relay it.  
  
"What if we did a stakeout of that payphone corner?"  
  
"We could at least get a handle on who's making the calls,  
  
and get our first solid link. I think that could be just  
  
what you need, Mulder." Frohike agreed.  
  
"Just bring us some supplies, ok?" Langley nasalled.  
  
"Thanks boys, I really appreciate this" Mulder said, and  
  
then looking down, evaluating his appearance, he realized  
  
he needed something else. "...but what I really need right  
  
now is a shower and a shave and a change. I gotta be at  
  
work in a few hours."  
  
"Yeah, me too." With that, Sam and Mulder left the  
  
warehouse, minds buzzing from too much caffeine and a  
  
sleepless night.  
  
"You coming to our breakfast meeting, Mulder?" Sam asked,  
  
glad to be seeing the light of day and back in his own  
  
house. It wasn't that he didn't like the boys, he just  
  
didn't like walking on eggshells constantly.  
  
"Yeah, I'll bring Scully with me. Maybe if we put our heads  
  
together, we can come up with something." Something in his  
  
tone sounded almost sad and defeated.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
Georgetown, Scully's Apt.  
  
7:52 am  
  
"Mulder..." Scully scolded, "God, you look awful. You would  
  
think you were the one up with Will half the night." She  
  
said, handing the baby over to Mulder. "You were supposed  
  
to be here twenty minutes ago."  
  
"Morning, Sunshine." He smirked. Mulder gave her an  
  
apologetic smile and sat down at the breakfast table in her  
  
kitchen, and began absently bouncing the baby on his lap,  
  
who still had processed plums all over him. "The boys and  
  
me were up late doing some digging."  
  
"Will's developed a new sport, haven't you sweetheart?"  
  
Scully said in her Motherese voice, bending next to Mulder  
  
to wipe the purple babyfood off Will's chubby face, hands,  
  
and legs. "It's called Babyfood Toss. The one who gets the  
  
most all over Mommy's favorite blazer wins. Extra points  
  
for Mommy's hair." Then, in her professional voice, she  
  
turned to Mulder. "What did you find?  
  
"Kersh is in on it. We're meeting Starkweather and Doggett  
  
over breakfast to discuss a gameplan in about an hour."  
  
"You have *got* to be kidding."  
  
"He gets cushy dividends with that oil company in the Gulf,  
  
along with a few other top military officials."  
  
"You have *got* to be kidding."  
  
Mulder shook his head, stood up, and scooped the baby up  
  
with him, and held him over his head, sending the toddler  
  
giggling. "I don't kid about the x-files." Then he put Will  
  
down in his walker, and sat back down at the breakfast  
  
table, raking his hands through his hair. "God, Scully,  
  
this is *my* fault...I'm sorry for all this..."  
  
"All what, Mulder? What's *your* fault?" Scully asked  
  
softly, and sat across from him, every now and then  
  
steeling a glance over at Will.  
  
"If I hadn't been abducted, none of..." he broke off, not  
  
being able to finish the sentence.  
  
"That's not your fault, Mulder. You can't blame yourself  
  
for what happened. To this day, I think Skinner still feels  
  
guilty about what happened to you..."  
  
She cautiously took her hand in his, he was trembling with  
  
emotions he wasn't quite sure how to define. Scully moved  
  
next to him now, wrapping herself around his shaking form  
  
in the chair, firmly squeezing his hand.  
  
"Oh God, Scully," he choked, startled and chastising  
  
himself for breaking down in her kitchen. "I'm sorry..."  
  
"While you were gone, I tried to do our job like you  
  
did...and I couldn't...and I blamed myself for that...but  
  
when Will came, I realized that what happened is nobody's  
  
fault except the monsters that took you."  
  
"You really think they're gonna shut down the x-files this  
  
time?" He asked, walking over to the baby, and lifting him  
  
out of his walker.  
  
"They've shut us down before. Someone told me once to never  
  
give up on a miracle. We'll get to the bottom of this, and  
  
go back to chasing little green men before you know it."  
  
"They're gray." He deadpanned, and waited with the baby  
  
till she got her business suit changed and her hair  
  
rewashed.  
  
Back to the Future  
  
QLHQ  
  
Al leaned forward, anticipating Doggett's answer, not  
  
really sure what to expect. He just hoped it wouldn't be  
  
mushy.  
  
Doggett's fists clenched up. His gaze got chilly again.  
  
"Starkweather is a great gal," Doggett said. "I admire her,  
  
I respect her. I like her. Not that junior high "do you  
  
like me or you like-LIKE me" crap. I enjoy working with  
  
her, I enjoy talking to her, I enjoy her company. You are  
  
right about her marriage going down the drain. That's what  
  
we talked about the night she stayed late at my apartment.  
  
She needed to vent. The reason why she didn't tell Ben what  
  
we talked about is because she mainly referred to him as  
  
'asshole' the entire time we talked."  
  
"Funny," Al said, "she had no problem telling THAT to his  
  
face tonight."  
  
"She's thinking about going to a lawyer," Doggett  
  
confessed. "She's thinking about getting papers drawn up.  
  
And how good is that gonna look, huh? Starkweather just  
  
blurting out 'Well, Ben, the reason why I came home so late  
  
is because I spent the night weighing the pros and cons of  
  
divorcing you with the man you think I'm screwin' on the  
  
side.' She was thinking divorce long before I was in the  
  
picture. She almost divorced him after her miscarriage-"  
  
"Miscarriage?" Al asked. "What miscarriage?"  
  
Feeling like a traitor, Doggett said, "It ain't really my  
  
story to tell. I thought you already knew, since you seem  
  
to know so much anyway... about a year ago, the  
  
Starkweathers got pregnant and when she was shopping with  
  
her mother-in-law, Starkweather started to bleed heavily  
  
and ended up losing her baby in a mall's bathroom.  
  
According to Starkweather, Ben was wonderful, supportive,  
  
so on and so forth. But when they fight, he likes to point  
  
out that if she wasn't so career and goal orientated, they  
  
might not have lost that baby. He's always apologetic of  
  
course... but..." Doggett didn't go on, for the rest of  
  
what Starkweather said that night was none of Al's  
  
business.  
  
A few days before Sam's leap into Doggett  
  
Doggett's apartment  
  
Washington DC  
  
1:35 AM Eastern Standard Time  
  
"But wow... when he's pissed and it's in the heat of the  
  
fucking moment," Starkweather said, sitting next to Doggett  
  
on the stairs leading up to Doggett's modest patio in back  
  
of his apartment. She shook her head, finished off the last  
  
sip of warm Bud Light, then reached behind her for another  
  
frosty bottle. She gestured to Doggett, holding the beer  
  
with her good hand, holding up her useless broken wrist in  
  
the air. Doggett popped the top for her. "Thanks."  
  
"No problem."  
  
"You know, it doesn't help ME get over the miscarriage when  
  
it's constantly rubbed in my face that it's my fault," she  
  
said bitterly.  
  
"You know it's not your fault."  
  
"I know that intellectually, but in my heart... I don't  
  
know, Doggett. I mean... I wasn't ready for kids, I'm still  
  
not so I guess it's a blessing in disguise. But, my God,  
  
Doggett," there was real hurt in her smokey voice. "I heard  
  
it's heart beat. I had just been to the doctor a few days  
  
before and I listened to the heartbeat and I started to get  
  
excited and maternal. I started daydreaming if it'd be a  
  
boy or a girl, if it'd look like me or Ben. I started  
  
picking out baby names. I called Linda-" her mother-in-law  
  
"-and asked her if she wanted to come with me to pick out a  
  
crib, maybe look at baby toys. Two days later, I'm waking  
  
up in ICU in critical condition because I nearly bled out.  
  
I know Ben wanted that baby more than I did... but that was  
  
only at first. I was just scared and overwhelmed and panic-  
  
stricken and constantly nauseous and in total denial. I  
  
just didn't believe that this was happening to me. I was on  
  
the Pill. We were careful. I freaked. I was like, "I'm not  
  
ready for this." But then I listened to the heartbeat and I  
  
thought "Yes I am. I am so ready for this." But it wasn't  
  
meant to be, so I guess I'm really not. Wait, I KNOW I'm  
  
not. I can't handle the idea of putting my career on hold  
  
again to start a family and I REALLY can't handle losing  
  
another baby if Ben and I would start a family. Once is  
  
enough. You know?"  
  
Doggett had been silent throughout Starkweather's entire  
  
speech, nodded. "Yeah, I do," he thought. "My ex-wife  
  
wanted to try for another baby after we lost Luke...  
  
but..." he shook his head. "I couldn't. I didn't wanna have  
  
a kid just replace Luke, like he was the family dog who we  
  
put to sleep and we went and got a new puppy the very next  
  
day. But I didn't understand my wife's need to have mor  
  
children. She didn't see it as replacing Luke. She saw it  
  
as mourning and honoring out son and getting on with our  
  
lives. Eventually, after a long, messy divorce, she found  
  
someone else and last time I talked to her, she has had two  
  
little girls with him."  
  
The agents sat in a comfortable silence sipping beer;  
  
listening to the sounds of a city alive at night in the dog  
  
days of August. "Was it really bad?" Starkweather asked  
  
after a bit, in a small voice.  
  
"What? The divorce?" Doggett asked, reaching for another  
  
beer. Starkweather nodded her head. "Yeah," he said in his  
  
typical honesty tempered by a soft Georgia drawl. "It was  
  
bad. The last time my wife and I talked, wasn't exactly  
  
civil."  
  
"Hm," Starkweather drew her knees to her chest and wrapped  
  
her arms around herself. "I wonder if Ben would contest."  
  
"You're talkin' as if it's a done deal, like you've got  
  
your mind made up."  
  
Oh, Christ Almighty Papa John," Starkweather groaned. "You  
  
know what a wuss I'm being about this. One minute I'm all  
  
'That motherfucker' but the next I'm all 'I love him!!' I  
  
don't know what the hell is going on. He whines about me  
  
never being home, but gee, I get bitchslapped by  
  
shapeshifting boogeyman and the Skin-man grants me a month  
  
of leave and Ben's gone at the office most of the time. You  
  
don't know how excited I was to come over and play cards  
  
tonight. I was to the point I was almost happy to see the  
  
Deputy Mayor."  
  
"Almost," Doggett grinned, ever conscious of the feud  
  
between Mulder and Starkweather and yet amused by the  
  
amazing (almost creepy) similarities between the two.  
  
"Almost," Starkweather said, rolling her eyes. "Not quite."  
  
"Well, it's an improvement," Doggett mollified her, not  
  
realizing the shitstorm that was going to erupt in a few  
  
days when Sam would leap into his body and he would be  
  
trying to escape the Quantum Leap compound while Sam would  
  
helplessly watch the mother of fights between Starkweather  
  
and Mulder.  
  
"I suppose," Starkweather said, also not a seer of the  
  
future, "he'd alright if he wasn't so goddamn arrogant and  
  
condescending."  
  
"Look who's talking!"  
  
"Doggett," Starkweather deadpanned, fluttering her lashes  
  
dramatically. "I DO NOT condescend."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"Plus I kind of have to be nice to him now since he saved  
  
my ass." A sentiment she would throw out the window the  
  
minute Mulder stormed into the X-Files office accusing her  
  
of setting him up.  
  
"How diplomatic."  
  
"I can be when I feel like it," she said airily, tossing  
  
her long hair like a proud pony. "I just wish I could find  
  
the right words to make things right with Ben... even if  
  
making things right means cutting him loose." She groaned.  
  
"This is terrible. I'm talking about dumping my husband  
  
while he's working his fingers to the bone at the office  
  
trying to secure some big high dollar law suit so we won't  
  
be so fucking broke. We got into a spat earlier tonight  
  
because he calls and tells me that this weekend we're  
  
supposed to go out with a bunch of his new friends from the  
  
law firm and their wives. He calls me as I'm doing bills  
  
and the money prognosis is not good right now. We blew our  
  
savings moving here. We quibble whether or not we can  
  
afford to go out to dinner, even though it's just going to  
  
beer and hot dogs at Hooters-"  
  
Doggett interrupted her. "Hooters?" he said in disbelief.  
  
Starkweather shrugged. "Retarded, isn't it." She looked up  
  
at the few stars brilliant enough to outshine the street  
  
lights. "But that's where his friends go after work, so...  
  
and even though money is really tight, especially with me  
  
not working at the moment... I gave in. And I hate myself  
  
for it." She sighed. "God, this sucks. I don't know what to  
  
do, Papa John." She rested her head on her knees, turning  
  
her china doll face to look at him, her hazel eyes turning  
  
into a deeper golden brown color, shaded by her turmoil.  
  
"Don't look at me!" Doggett said "I don't got the answers,"  
  
as he reached over and patted his partner's arm  
  
companionably.  
  
"I know," she said miserably, reaching over with her broken  
  
wrist and resting her fingertips on his hand, which he left  
  
on her arm. "But at least you aren't pulling any fake  
  
'it's-gonna-be-alright' bullshit answers out of your ass."  
  
"You know I won't lie to you," Doggett said seriously,  
  
slipping his hand from out under Starkweather's to push a  
  
lock of her hair out of her eyes. He hated talking to women  
  
with hair in their eyes. "I'd love to tell you that it IS  
  
gonna be alright, but we both know that's a load of BS.  
  
Just know that I've got your back no matter which way you  
  
choose, whether you're gonna stay with 'Mrs. Starkweather'  
  
or if you're going to go back to 'Dr. Bailey.'"  
  
Starkweather grinned. "Oh, no matter what happens, I'm  
  
going to stick with 'Agent Starkweather'," she said. "It  
  
sounds so much more bad-ass that 'Agent Bailey.'" She stood  
  
up and stood in front of Doggett. "I better get going...  
  
it's way late..." she unexpectedly kissed Doggett on the  
  
top of his head. "Thanks for being such a decent human  
  
being."  
  
"Doc, I do believe you're tanked."  
  
"Naaaahh," she said, weaving just a bit. "Wha' makes you  
  
shay that?"  
  
"The fact that you just slurred that entire sentence.  
  
C'mon," he said, ever the gentlemen, taking her small,  
  
calloused hand into his, touching nothing else. "You're  
  
drunk, I'm getting drunk, neither one of us is in any shape  
  
to drive you home, the bugs are gettin' bad, come on in and  
  
I'll make you some coffee."  
  
"You know," Starkweather said as Doggett lead her up the  
  
stairs and inside his apartment. "If we keep up with all  
  
this hand holding mushy sh*t, people at the Bureau might  
  
start saying we're the next Mulder and Scully."  
  
"Oh God," Doggett groaned. "I need that like a hole in my  
  
head."  
  
"I wouldn't worry about it," Starkweather said with an  
  
impish grin. "I'm sure you get laid a whole lot more than  
  
Mulder ever did."  
  
"A lady never uses vulgar language, Mrs. Starkweather."  
  
"Pbbsssst," Starkweather blew a raspberry at him. "Since  
  
when have I been a lady?" But she still held his hand.  
  
They stood in the door frame, being sucking on by little  
  
vampiric mosquitoes, close enough to kiss.  
  
Doggett and Starkweather stood there for a bit, like  
  
teenagers loathing to call a night to a close, but  
  
realizing that they had curfews to meet. Still holding his  
  
hand, Starkweather walked up to Doggett and rested her head  
  
on his chest. Doggett, feeling a bit awkward, stroked her  
  
pretty hair with his free hand, resting his cheek against  
  
her head, saying nothing, just being a friend. But she  
  
lingered a little longer than a friend would have normally,  
  
still holding his other hand, interlocking her fingers with  
  
his, squeezing. Starkweather then looked up at Doggett, and  
  
pushed him away. Maybe she heard his heart beating, maybe  
  
she heard his breath catch in his throat, but something  
  
scared her a little, because Doggett noticed she was  
  
trembling and wide-eyed like the proverbial deer in the  
  
headlight. "Look," she said "you're drunk, I'm drunk plus  
  
I'm depressed and not really in a state of mind to make  
  
rational decisions and it's not like... I mean... aw hell,  
  
Doggett, things are fucked up as is. I don't want it to get  
  
weird." She paused, and grinned. "Damn weird." she mocked  
  
him gently.  
  
He laughed. "Jiminy Christmas," now he teased her, using  
  
her tamest expletive. "Relax. It's not going to get weird,  
  
Mrs. Starkweather." Doggett, holding her good hand, the  
  
left hand, lifted it up and pecked it like a gentlemen. He  
  
examined the diamond solitaire glistening on the pinkie  
  
finger. "Wrong finger, Doc," he said.  
  
"I can't get it on the correct finger at the moment,"  
  
Starkweather said. "How about that coffee," she said,  
  
customary smirk on her face, walking inside, crisis past...  
  
Back at QLHQ  
  
As Doggett glared at Al, he thought **How am I supposed to  
  
explain that when I don't even understand what the hell  
  
happened myself?**  
  
9:05 AM  
  
FBI Headquarters  
  
Deputy Director Kersh's office  
  
********************************  
  
"Assistant Director, you should be commended." Kersh began  
  
coolly. "With the exception of a few incidents regarding  
  
Agents Mulder, Scully, and Doggett, your work record is  
  
spotless."  
  
"So for all my efforts, I should be getting stocked up on  
  
suntan and flamingos, and expect my company watch in the  
  
mail?" Skinner glowered. It wasn't in his character to snap  
  
at his superiors, but then again, it wasn't in his  
  
character to give up on what was right, either. After all  
  
that he had been through for the x-files office, after all  
  
everyone involved had sacrificed for the Truth, he couldn't  
  
just walk away. He owed Mulder that much.  
  
"For all your efforts, I was going to say that you should  
  
be very proud of what you have done, Assistant Director.  
  
You seem to have a win-win situation on your hands, A.D.  
  
Skinner."  
  
Skinner clinched his jaw, not wanting to hear his options  
  
out. "What do I win-win here, sir?"  
  
"Allow Agents Doggett and the Deputy Mayor to testify on  
  
behalf of the Bureau and close their investigations into  
  
this matter, and rest easy with a tidy pention. It will be  
  
not only good publicity for the FBI, but it will exhonorate  
  
the Deputy Mayor. You would be a damn fool not to cooperate  
  
with me on this one, A.D. We all get what we want here.  
  
Before you make your decision, I have already allowed  
  
litigations to be carried out on the matter. Fox Mulder and  
  
John Doggett both have subpoenas, as well as Dana Scully  
  
and Jerilyn Starkweather."  
  
"Sir," Skinner almost-growled, trying hard to keep his  
  
voice controlled and steady, "if those agents testify, then  
  
you may very well loose any chance you ever had of  
  
recovering any of the injustices that had transpired on  
  
that oil rig."  
  
"Then that is a risk we will have to take." Kersh said, standing now behind his desk. "Those testimonies very well  
  
may bring light on the truth. I am trying to do what is  
  
best for the FBI here. Frankly, we need good publicity  
  
right now with all that's happened around here lately. If  
  
the country knows how dedicated its top agents are, it just  
  
may do the trick."  
  
"Don't think I'll be bribed to leave my position, sir."  
  
Skinner said, standing up now and almost shouting. "I  
  
cannot sell out to the people under me."  
  
"That will be all, A.D." Kersh said crisply, and Skinner  
  
stormed out.  
  
Skinner wasn't back from the meeting for five minutes  
  
before the phone rang.  
  
"Skin--" Mulder was saying, but Skinner broke him off.  
  
"Mulder if you start that Skin-man crap with me today you  
  
would rather have your face ripped off again." He growled,  
  
throwing his glasses down, clinching his jaw and raking the  
  
tip of his fingers up and down his sinuses.  
  
"We've got a situation on our hands here, Sir. Scully's  
  
left to get Starkweather, and Doggett's on his way over. I  
  
don't wanna say over FBI phones what it is." Mulder said on  
  
the other end of the line, hoping that the clank-crash he  
  
just heard wasn't an irreparable disaster.  
  
"You don't know the half of it." Skinner growled.  
  
"Everything alright on your end?  
  
"Yeah, I'm babysitting at Scully's right now...that kid is  
  
superhuman, right, Sir?"  
  
"Cut the "sir" crap, Mulder...you're not working for me  
  
anymore..."  
  
"How soon can you get over here?" He said, frantically  
  
trying to conceal the dent in the plaster of Scully's  
  
kitchen wall that Will's walker had just made with duct  
  
tape. Will, still in his walker, was gurgling and clapping  
  
his hands.  
  
"I'll be over there in about half an hour." He hung up and  
  
told Kimberly to hold all his calls and that he'd be gone  
  
for an undisclosed amount of time. "If Kersh calls for me,  
  
tell him to go to hell." He said in all seriousness, and  
  
stormed out to the FBI parking lot.  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Le Pane Cafe (A French Cafe in Downtown Washington)  
  
9:13 AM  
  
******************  
  
Only if you were people-watching would you notice the two  
  
elderly men sitting at one of the tables in the back of the  
  
cafe.  
  
"I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for all this."  
  
One of the men said, swatting at freshly puffed smoke blown  
  
carelessly in his face. "My little Jerri can finally have  
  
all she deserves. My wifes' last memory should not have  
  
been--" the man's broken voice trailed off, emotionally  
  
unable to form the words to complete it.  
  
"I should be grateful to you, Admiral." Said the other man  
  
in a callous, steady voice, taking another puff of his  
  
Morley. "All my work has come to this. He has served his  
  
purpose for us, and it is too dangerous for him to  
  
continue. Who knows who else's lives he's destroyed.  
  
Justice can finally be done, thanks to your help. You will  
  
be remembered for this. I will see that Agent Starkweather  
  
gets all you've ever wanted for her."  
  
"My son-in-law will see to that."  
  
"I have no doubt that he takes care of her, but he may  
  
prevent us from finishing our task if his investigations  
  
are fruitfull in this matter in the Gulf. We cannot fail  
  
this time, Admiral. Your daughter depends upon it." He  
  
absently took another puff of his cigarette.  
  
"What do you need me to do?  
  
"All I need you to do for her to get that is to set a  
  
trap."  
  
"What kind of a trap?"  
  
"A foxtrap."  
  
"It will be done."  
  
"For your little girl's sake, I hope so." The old man put  
  
out his cigarette and walked out, as if nothing was  
  
discussed.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
9:07 AM  
  
In Scully's car on the way back to her apartment  
  
*************************************************  
  
Starkweather and Scully sat in silence for a while. It  
  
wasn't that they didn't feel like talking...just that the  
  
radio was the only thing keeping Scully from falling asleep  
  
at the wheel.  
  
The Monkees were blaring over the airwaves at fullblast.  
  
I thought love was only true in fairytales  
  
Meant for someone else but not for me  
  
love was out to get me  
  
that's the way it ....  
  
...the signal wavered out for a couple of lines as they  
  
passed under a bridge...  
  
Now I'm a believer  
  
Not a trace  
  
of doubt in my mind  
  
Starkweather, needing either music to be pissed-off by or  
  
to scream, abruptly cut the radio off.  
  
"Something up Starkweather?" Scully asked, after a few  
  
minutes of awkward silence.  
  
"Ben and I had a knock-down drag-out last night. He got a  
  
hotel."  
  
"What about?"  
  
"I don't even know anymore." She confided. "I tried to talk  
  
him out of prosecuting the oil company case, and he made it  
  
crystal clear that he doesn't want me in the FBI anymore."  
  
"Is that what *you* want?" Scully implored her, glancing at  
  
her as soon as traffic allowed.  
  
"I want to make this marriage work. Love is such a godaamn  
  
bitch!"  
  
"For what it's worth, Starkweather, you're an asset to this  
  
office. I don't know if we would've found the connection  
  
with Kersh without your digging around the AFB's. And don't  
  
let what Mulder said yesterday get to you, either. He may  
  
be an arrogant shithead sometimes, but his heart's in the  
  
right place. Besides, I told him if he starts anything with  
  
you at this meeting he would opt to go back with the  
  
aliens. So you'll call a truce?"  
  
Starkweather cracked a small smile. "Only if you help me  
  
come up with a new nickname for him."  
  
"I think that can be arranged." She said with a wan smile.  
  
They erupted into peels of giggling like two high school  
  
girls as Scully pulled into the parking lot of her  
  
apartment complex.  
  
Meanwhile  
  
Back at the QLHQ that morning  
  
Al came in, so proud of his new suit, an obnoixious  
  
metallic maroon zoot-suit, with a relatively sober black  
  
dress blouse and a skinny matching "Regis" metallic black  
  
tie. Goushie looked up. "Geez, Al, don't stand in direct  
  
sunlight, you'll blind everyone."  
  
"HA. HA." Al grumbled, not a morning person. "How's Ziggy?"  
  
"Well..." Goushie hedged. "We still working on the error  
  
that's allowing Mulder and Starkweather to see you."  
  
"Starkweather can't see me," Al wearily reminded him. "Just  
  
hear."  
  
"Um... not yet..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Um..." Now Goushie cringed. "We think we've picked up a  
  
computer virus somewhere and it's mutating. We've got some  
  
other programs that are going absolutely haywire right now,  
  
but as of right now, nothing that will directly affect  
  
Sam's leap," he rushed on, eager to reassure Al.  
  
"Unless something else goes caca and poof, here I am in  
  
front of that wildcat. This is a secure building, Goushie"  
  
Al growled. "Only certain people have access to the  
  
Internet and our Intranet. How did a virus get into our  
  
systems?"  
  
"Um, we think one of the boys from Marine Security Forces  
  
disabled the security lock-out so he can surf the World  
  
Wide Web for porn," Goushie was now visibly sweating.  
  
"We've got it nailed down to three suspects right now,  
  
they're in lock up."  
  
"Oh that's just great. Terrific. Marvelous. Marines... the  
  
Few, the Proud, the Horny," Al ranted. "How's Sam doing?"  
  
he asked him.  
  
"Not good," Goushie, through Ziggy, was able to monitor  
  
Sam's vital stats through every leap. "His blood pressure  
  
is higher than I've ever seen on any other leap. Heart  
  
rhythms going batsy too."  
  
"Whaddya mean?" Al asked. "Does Agent Rabid Dog's body have  
  
a heart condition that we don't know about?"  
  
"No," Goushie was quick to assure him. "When Agent Doggett  
  
is in Agent Doggett's body, he takes very good care of  
  
himself. He eats like a pig, but he runs it all off. He was  
  
up at the butt crack of dawn, doing calthestinics."  
  
"Goody for him," Al said sourly. He too saw dawn's early  
  
light, but that was when he was going home for a shower and  
  
a short nap. "What about Sam?"  
  
"Sam's in a state of hyped up adrenline. Too much sugar,  
  
too much caffeine, too much stress. And this is only one  
  
day. He's going to burn out fast if he doesn't get some  
  
down time."  
  
"Time???" Al groaned. "Goushie, we don't GOT time, you know  
  
that!! We are literally," Al looked at his watch "hours  
  
away from Benny boy from being lifted. Ziggy's sick with a  
  
virus, all I got about the Missus Starkweather from Doggett  
  
was a whole lot of nothin'. Sam's out there, twisting in  
  
the wind..." a horrible thought crossed Al's mind.  
  
"Goushie, this virus is nowhere near the mainframe or the  
  
power grid... is it?"  
  
"That's the other thing I've got to tell you..." Goushie  
  
said timidly. "We may have to shut down Ziggy for a few  
  
hours to-"  
  
"NO!" Al thundered at the poor scientist. "We CAN NOT shut  
  
down, we CAN NOT leave Sam back there on his own!"  
  
"What happens if we crash out completely?" Goushie fired  
  
back. "What if this virus gets into the modems of the Crays  
  
and we go down for days??? Weeks? Sam could leap and we  
  
would lose precious time trying to find him. We may never  
  
find him. He'd be good as dead."  
  
Al's normally jovial face looked puckered and drawn. He  
  
pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket and lit it, chewing  
  
it ferociously.  
  
"Look," Goushie said tiredly. "Shutting down is our last  
  
resort. The techs are on it right now, trying to  
  
reconfigure the coding, to contain the virus so it doesn't  
  
spread. They've already got the firewalls built. So far  
  
except for the hologram glitch, Ziggy is virtually  
  
untouched, knock on wood. The only problem for Ziggy that  
  
this virus is causing is that it will not let us de-  
  
configure your brainwaves from Mulder's and sub  
  
consequentially Starkweather's. As of this moment, it is a  
  
issue, but a controlled one. The problem is what could  
  
happen if we don't figure out how to wipe that little  
  
bugger out of Ziggy. This virus has also gotten into a few  
  
office computers and wreaked hell. The techs are using  
  
those as cadavers if you will to figure out how the hell to  
  
stop this thing if the virus reconforms, figures out how to  
  
bypass the firewalls and start to take a trip down Ziggy's  
  
Memory Lanes. If we shut Ziggy down, it would be for five,  
  
six hours max to do a diagnostic and maybe, if worse comes  
  
to worse, put a new motherboard in her main modem, reboot,  
  
reinstall the Quantum Leap programming and bring her back  
  
up at the bare mimimum of capacity until we get her other  
  
systems powered up and operational. The holding chamber is  
  
on a completely different driver than Ziggy. That does not  
  
need to power down. If for some reason, Sam leaps, we've  
  
got power to support the leap. The problem is we won't be  
  
able to track him for at least a day. The tracking  
  
capabilities are tied to the holographic imagining chamber  
  
which is directly tied to Ziggy. If Ziggy gets completely  
  
infected and goes down..."  
  
"Sam goes down too," Al muttered. "Alright, Goush. Do what  
  
you gotta do, but WARN me if and when you gotta tuck the  
  
old girl in for a nap. Sam should be aware that he might be  
  
swimming alone for a few hours."  
  
If it happens, it will happen in approximately 72 hours."  
  
Goushie said. "If... and Al, please, remember, this is a  
  
BIG if, if it needs to happen, we've scheduled it to be  
  
offline at night."  
  
"At night!" Al groaned, shuffling towards the imagining  
  
chamber. "Goush, buddy, this is an X-File, all the good  
  
stuff happens at night. Ziggy!" he called out. "Sorry  
  
you're not feeling well honey, but I need to see Sam right  
  
away...."  
  
Doggett Residence  
  
Georgetown, VA  
  
7:51 AM  
  
*******************  
  
Sam was not doing well. His heart was beating at an  
  
unnaturally fast pace, and his medical training told him  
  
that he couldn't live like this much longer without going  
  
into cardiac arrest. If he couldn't get to Ben Starkweather  
  
in time, who knows how long he would be in that state?  
  
Al was waiting for him in Doggett's house after his long  
  
night with the Gunmen.  
  
"How's it going Sam?"  
  
"Besides being in a constant state of hypertention, fine."  
  
"I know, pal. Just hang in there, we'll getchya through  
  
this. Doggett's calmed down back there, but one of the  
  
stupid marines got Ziggy a virus. We may need to shut  
  
down."  
  
"They can't shut Ziggy down! Al," Sam was panicking, "Ben  
  
gets killed by the end of today if I can't--they can't--"  
  
Sam felt his head spinning.  
  
"Calm down, Sam. It's only a possibility right now, we've  
  
got all the personnel we have on this one, making sure that  
  
doesn't happen. You, Spooky, and the three stooges find  
  
anything last night?"  
  
"Kersh is in on it."  
  
"Why am I not surprised." Al said, and took a puff of his  
  
cigar.  
  
"I'm due over at Scully's in a little while with everyone  
  
to come up with a gameplan. Can you nail an exact time for  
  
Ben's death?"  
  
"Coroners placed the time of death between 4 and 4:30 am  
  
tonight."  
  
"So, all I need to do is find a way to prove the connection  
  
between Kersh and the oil company before the end of the  
  
day. Any ideas?"  
  
"I'll go and talk to Doggett back there, see if he can say  
  
anything. Figure out what you can from the A.D. and I'll  
  
pool my resources to see what we can dig up."  
  
"Remember, hang in there. We'll do what we can to get you  
  
outta here as fast as possible." said Al, trying to be  
  
optimistic, and opened the chamber door.  
  
Sam got a shower and changed clothes, and left for Scully's  
  
apartment.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Scully's Apt.  
  
Georgetown, VA  
  
9:35 AM  
  
****************  
  
"Scully, don't go into your kitchen." Mulder said, grinning  
  
sheepishly as soon as her and Starkweather walked through  
  
the door. "We're having the meeting here. I just called  
  
Skinner over."  
  
"Mulder? What did you do to my--where's Will?" She said,  
  
eyes widening, going to the kitchen. "OH MY GOD!  
  
Muuuuuuuuuuulder!!"  
  
"Sorry Scully, I'll get you a new kitchen wall." Then  
  
turning to Starkweather, says "So, Starkweather, can we  
  
call it a truce?"  
  
"If you count a bib with little ducks on it a white flag,  
  
sure." She said, awkwardly looking around the apartment.  
  
"Have a seat." Mulder said. "Just for the record, I'd like  
  
to forget our little discussion earlier."  
  
"I'll take that as an apology. So whatchya got?"  
  
"You guys playing nice?" Scully said, coming out of the  
  
kitchen.  
  
"It is not perhaps the warmest of friendships." Mulder  
  
said, taking a seat on a chair across from Starkweather. He  
  
noticed for the first time how much her eyes looked like  
  
his fathers'.  
  
"Scully, you made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I won't  
  
send him postcards, but I won't murder him." Starkweather  
  
said, doing her best impression of Marlon Brando.  
  
"Cue the mandolins." Scully deadpanned, going into the  
  
kitchen to rescue Will from his rocker.  
  
"Hey, Scully," Mulder called after her, "If they made a  
  
movie about us again, what do you think about Al Pacino  
  
playing me? He's cool." Mulder said, taking the baby.  
  
"He's a god, but, Mulder, I thought Paul Reiser was in 'Mad  
  
About You'" Scully teased, giving Starkweather an "I-can't-  
  
believe-we're-having-this-discussion" look.  
  
"You wanna hold the baby?" Mulder asked Starkweather,  
  
handing her the baby.  
  
"Who'll they get to play me?" Starkweather whined, and then  
  
in baby-talk, giving the baby a raspberry in between words.  
  
"Yeeeeeees Will, who *phhhhbbbbbwwwwt* will  
  
*phhhhhhhbbbbbwwwt* play phhhhhhbbbbbwwwt* me?"  
  
"Oh, we'll get the special effects guys to come with  
  
something for your part."  
  
Scully and Starkweather both flashed Mulder a warning look.  
  
Mulder was saved just then as the doorbell rang.  
  
Scully went to get the door. "Thanks for your help on this.  
  
Come on in, John."  
  
"Hey, that bad guy from T2 would be PERFECT to play  
  
Doggett." Mulder smirked.  
  
"Shut up, Mulder." Sam returned dryly. Skinner came to the  
  
door as soon as Sam came in the door, and Mulder showed  
  
them both in. Sam went over to Starkweather and Will, and  
  
looked disbelieving over at Mulder and Scully. "Look,  
  
Starkweather," he said taking the baby, "finally someone  
  
Mulder can relate to around here."  
  
"So what are we going to do?" Mulder asked collectively.  
  
They all sat there, all exchanging blank glances for a few  
  
awkward minutes.  
  
"Mulder, how does Canada sound?" Skinner suggested, looking  
  
at Will as though he would go off.  
  
9:35AM  
  
Lawfirm, of Spangle, Carter, and Adams  
  
****************************************  
  
"Questions for Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder..." Ben  
  
dictated into the mini tape recorder. "Please explain to  
  
the court the circumstances under which you left the FBI.  
  
Please explain to the court why you went against official  
  
orders. Please explain to the court why you ordered  
  
quarantine. Please describe to the court what you found on  
  
that oilrig. Please describe to the court the circumstances  
  
under which you left the oil rig." He paused to flip over  
  
the tape. "Why do I get the feeling that the jury won't  
  
accept the bullshit answers the fucking Deputy Mayor is  
  
going to give me?"  
  
"Spooky will at least give the jury something to laugh at  
  
in the deliberation room. Jury duty for an environmental  
  
trial isn't exactly the feel-good event of the year."  
  
"Deputy Director, always a pleasure to see you sir." Ben  
  
said with a smile, shaking his hand and offering the man a  
  
seat. "My wife hasn't been sent to the principle's office  
  
today, has she?" He said with a grin.  
  
"No, Counselor. This isn't about your wife. This is about  
  
your first big case. I want you to know that you've got a  
  
friend in the FBI, one who will do everything he can to  
  
help you bring justice to whomever is to blame."  
  
"Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me. The Assistant  
  
Director isn't as cooperative, and neither is my wife."  
  
"Well believe me, Mr. Starkweather, they both will pay for  
  
their behavior if it has obstructed justice in any way. I  
  
came to personally deliver the litigation papers on behalf  
  
of the FBI to help move the process along smoothly. You  
  
will find everything in order."  
  
"Again, thank you sir. It is a relief to know someone in  
  
your building is concerned with serving justice. I will  
  
make sure the integrity of the FBI remains intact in the  
  
process."  
  
"I apologize for any complication that may have arisen on  
  
behalf of my colleagues. I guess some people just don't  
  
take their jobs seriously." Kersh said, and rose from his  
  
chair, dropping a scrap of paper from his folder, and left  
  
before Ben could hand it back to him.  
  
Kersh:  
  
"Discuss oil company matter at Lincoln Warehouse 5:30  
  
second floor."  
  
CBGS  
  
Ben crumpled the note up and tossed it into the  
  
wastebasket, and glanced back down at his legal pad.  
  
He got the mini tape-recorder out and pressed record.  
  
"Questions for FBI Special Agent John Doggett. Please  
  
discribe to the court what you found on the oil rig. Please  
  
explain the circumstances under which you left the oil rig.  
  
Please explain to me what you've been doing with my  
  
*WIFE!*" He shouted, and threw the mini tape recorder  
  
across the floor. He took the peice of paper out of his  
  
pocket again, and unfolded it, twirling it around between  
  
his forefinger and middle finger.  
  
He went back to the wastebasket and picked up the crumpled  
  
note, and unfolded it. He shoved it into his pocket, and  
  
turned the tape recorder on again. Forgetting that the tape  
  
recorder was still on, he took the peice of paper out of  
  
his pocket again, and unfolded it, twirling it around  
  
between his forefinger and middle finger. What he wouldn't  
  
give to be a fly on the wall at that meeting. Maybe that  
  
meeting could give him the answers. It could give him proof  
  
of who Agent Doggett really was, and if Jerilyn could see  
  
that, maybe she would stop this stupid FBI kick she's on.  
  
He could have Mrs. Starkweather back, and all would be as  
  
it should be.  
  
He picked up the phone, calling his secretary. "Cindy, do I  
  
have any appointments between 4:30 and 6:30 this  
  
afternoon?"  
  
A few seconds later, a perky voice chirped, "Yes. You have  
  
a 5 with your dentist.  
  
Ben said inaudibly licking his teeth, "I need you cancel  
  
that for me, please. Something's come up that can't be  
  
moved."  
  
"It's done, Mr. Starkweather. Should I make another dental  
  
appointment?"  
  
"Um...I'll let my teeth rot Cindy, thanks." He said, and  
  
hung up. Yes, everything was definitely looking up.  
  
9:04 AM  
  
Scully's Apt.  
  
************  
  
"I don't like the Blue Jays." Mulder deadpanned, shaking  
  
his head. "You guys have no idea how much I want to help  
  
put that snake back in the grass...but I have my own job,  
  
and I've already taken too many sick days."  
  
"We know, Mulder." Sam said. "You're forgetting that this  
  
isn't just *your* crusade anymore. It's *my* job now, and  
  
Scully's and Starkweathers to find the Truth that's in  
  
those files." Sam didn't know what he'd do if he was forced  
  
out of his own project.  
  
"Bottom line is we gotta get into Kersh's office somehow."  
  
Starkweather said, pacing back and forth. "We need some way  
  
to find out when he's not going to be there for sure."  
  
"Skinner, can you get a hold of his planner?" Scully asked,  
  
rescuing Will from Sam, who was scheduled for his morning  
  
nap in a half an hour.  
  
"I can try, Scully," Skinner answered, looking decidedly  
  
uncomfortable so close to Will. He couldn't help but warm  
  
up to the baby when Will refexively reached out for his  
  
nose. When Skinner leaned closer, the baby promptly pulled  
  
Skinner's glasses off. "But even if I was able to get a  
  
hold of his planner, there's no telling if he has any time  
  
away from his office before the trial. I'm going to have to  
  
create a diversion." Skinner said, perching his glasses  
  
back in their proper place.  
  
"What if I tailed Ben?" Sam suggested. And keep him  
  
alive! He mentally added.  
  
"Doggett," Mulder started, "As much as I'd love to see the  
  
crap kicked outta ya, I can't let you do that. What would  
  
it accomplish except waste time we need finding to spend  
  
finding proof?"  
  
"It would keep Ben alive!" Sam inwardly protested. Too  
  
bad he couldn't tell Mulder.  
  
"Besides," Starkweather agreed, "as much as it pains me to  
  
agree with Mulder, it wouldn't look exactly Kosher for  
  
someone my husband thinks is gettin' freaky with me to be  
  
caught following the lawyer who is about to grill his ass  
  
on the stand."  
  
"She's got a point, Doggett." Scully agreed.  
  
"Mulder, Starkweather, tailing Ben is the only way we can  
  
make sure Ben stays alive! doesn't have any tricks up his  
  
sleeve." I hope they buy that  
  
"Doggett," Scully protested, "If you're tagging Mr.  
  
Starkweather, I'm going with you."  
  
"Scully, I can't let you do that! How is Al going to tell  
  
me what he's up to if Scully can here my half of the  
  
conversation! What are you going to do about Will?"  
  
"Agent Reyes can sit with him. Doggett, I'm not letting you  
  
go out there alone."  
  
"Doggett's right," Starkweather interjected, "Let me go."  
  
"Starkweather," Skinner protested, "we need someone to  
  
sneak into Kersh's office for evidence during the  
  
diversion."  
  
"I wonder if Angie Dickenson ever had these problems."  
  
Starkweather deadpanned.  
  
"Alright, gang..." Mulder said, sighing heavily. "I hate to  
  
break this party up, but I have to go be a paper-pusher for  
  
a while. Let me know how everything turns out later. Who  
  
knows? Maybe I can get a buzz watching paint dry today."  
  
"Mulder," Scully protested, "while you're high on the  
  
paint, just make sure you don't do what you did on the  
  
chloral hydrate in Texas."  
  
"I don't care WHAT you say," Mulder started protesting,  
  
heading out the door, "I did NOT recite the beginning of  
  
Shaft."  
  
"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Scully deadpanned.  
  
"Scully?" Starkweather gawked, "The beginning of Shaft! Oh  
  
MY GOD! He DIDN'T!!" To which Mulder inappropriately  
  
gestured to Starkweather on the way out a slamming door.  
  
"Yee Haw." Sam said dryly.  
  
9:37 AM  
  
The Lone GunmenMobile  
  
On the Corner of 23rd and Pennsylvania  
  
***************************************  
  
"Mulder owes us BIG TIME for this one." Frohike grumbled,  
  
pulling the van into the corner.  
  
"Geez, Frohike." Langley whined. "Man....there's this  
  
wonderful product called DEODERANT!!!!! Ever hear of it?"  
  
"For Christ's sake, Langley. Did you get those damn Funions  
  
again? The van will smell like shit for WEEKS."  
  
"It wasn't me!" Langley protested, "it was Byers. He had a  
  
burrito last night for dinner. Beans, beans the musical  
  
fruit, the more you eat the more you..."  
  
"If I only had a brain." Byers sang barely audibly under  
  
his breath.  
  
"You see what I see, Frohickey?" Langley said, looking  
  
through the camera lens.  
  
"Yeah, Langley." Frohike answered, taking the camera lens  
  
from him, pointing it away from the phone booth. "Damn,  
  
she's tasty. I bet you could eat breakfast on her ass."  
  
"Would you cut that out!" Byers said through his teeth,  
  
snatching the camera away from Frohike. "That is Agent  
  
Monica Reyes coming going to the FBI building! If she spots  
  
us we are dead. Do you HEAR me boys?! DEAD!! Stay DOWN!"  
  
They all crouched down under the windshield, and then all  
  
three simultaneously, cautiously peered above the steering  
  
wheel.  
  
"Langley," Frohike glowered, "could you kindly get your  
  
FOOT OUT OF MY CROTCH!"  
  
"It's ok, she doesn't know the van yet..." Byers said,  
  
"...we're safe."  
  
"Byers, who's that blonde coming up behind her?" Frohike  
  
grumbled, "Ohhhh Christ, doesn't that look like  
  
Starkweather?"  
  
Byers and Langley both nodded simultaneously.  
  
"It's ok, isn't it?" Byers asked, now looking with his bare  
  
eyes. "She doesn't know the van. The only way we'd be dead  
  
right now is if..."  
  
All three men's eyes expanded three sizes at the same time  
  
as they saw a familiar red head moving toward them.  
  
"Oh shit..." Langley whispered  
  
"It's Scully!" Byers gulped.  
  
"We're cooked!" Frohike grumbled.  
  
"Very astute observance. That would be my evaluation of the  
  
situation." Byers deadpanned as he saw the door handles to  
  
the passenger side turning. "Are we insured?"  
  
"Boys," Frohike said, patting them both on the shoulder,  
  
"it was nice knowing you." He tried to bail out the back,  
  
but Starkweather was poised, trigger-happy.  
  
"Byers," Scully started, cocking her gun underneath his  
  
chin. "Don't think I won't pull the trigger. What the H*LL  
  
do you think your doing?"  
  
Starkweather was holding Frohike in much the same position,  
  
she had jumped him a few seconds ago, pinning his arm  
  
behind his back, and face down, had a gun ready to fire  
  
into the back of his head.  
  
"Nice..." Langly's Adams' apple bobbed three times... "day  
  
for a ride, ladies?"  
  
"We...were just in the...neighborhood..." Frohike  
  
whispered.  
  
"...and don't try and cover up for Mulder. His *ss is next  
  
if he put you up to this."  
  
"We're dead!" Byers grumbled. "I'm going to die. I'm going  
  
to die a virgin."  
  
"Ha! Pay up, Frohickey!" Langley shouted triumphantly.  
  
"Hey, at least I'm secure in my sexuality." Byers  
  
protested, and lurched forward until the barrel of Scully's  
  
gun was shoved in his nose.  
  
"Don't knock it 'till ya tried it." Langly nasalled,  
  
causing everyone to gawk at him. "Not that I ever--Scully,  
  
I swear, it wasn't my idea! Please let me live!"  
  
Reyes, who had her gun poised and ready to fire just behind  
  
Langley's ear grinned and said "I had a *feeling* there was  
  
going to be an ass-whuppin' today."  
  
Starkweather, backing off of Frohike, but gun still pointed  
  
at him, turned to Reyes saying "Feelin' nothin', Agent  
  
Reyes. With the Idiot Troopers an ass-whuppin' is in the  
  
forecast 100 peerrrrrcent."  
  
"Feelings, nothing more than feelings." Frohike sang off-  
  
key under his breath, shutting up abruptly at the click of  
  
Starkweather's cocking gun.  
  
"Spill it boys." Scully glowered. "What are you doing  
  
here?"  
  
"Mulder found out that a number from that payphone" Byers  
  
said in rapid-fire, jerking his head behind him. "was  
  
called lots of times..."  
  
"Twenty six times." Langley interrupted.  
  
"To someone high-up in the FBI, and we needed to know who  
  
was making those calls." Frohike continued, almost running  
  
his words into one, and finally daring to get up with  
  
Starkweather's gun still pointed at him.  
  
"So Mulder could get a solid lead on a connection between  
  
the oil company and the FBI." Byers said, who had finally  
  
been allowed free from Scully's death-grip and was now  
  
straightening his tie and jacket. Reyes, Starkweather, and  
  
Scully all exchanged evaluating glances, and silently came  
  
to an agreement that their story was believable.  
  
"They may be dolts, but they're not liars." Scully said.  
  
"We're dolts?" All three echoed simultaneously.  
  
"Why didn't Mulder tell us that?" Starkweather demanded  
  
Scully.  
  
"We thought Mulder sent you guys to spy on us." Explained  
  
Reyes.  
  
"Boys, let us know if you find anything." Starkweather  
  
said, and closed the back door. "Nice seeing you again."  
  
"We'll have to do this again sometime." Byers said,  
  
grinning like an idiot.  
  
"As much as we'd love to chat," Reyes said, shutting the  
  
driver side's door at the same time Scully shut the  
  
passenger side door,  
  
"We've got work to do." Scully said, and shut the door,  
  
making all those in the van feel almost sorry for Mulder...  
  
"Scully!" Frohike called after her, Scully opened the door,  
  
"so this whole assault on us was to get Mulder?"  
  
…almost.  
  
"No…" Scully said with a sly grin crossing her lips, "I  
  
have my own reasons for beating the crap outta you guys."  
  
"Being?" Byers whimpered, wondering what he did to deserve  
  
his punishment.  
  
"Two words…" Scully replied. "Vegas Payback."  
  
Byers landed his head on the steering wheel, setting the  
  
horn off.  
  
"I told you that was a bad idea, man." Langley said to  
  
Frohike with a thwack on the back of his head.  
  
"My idea!" Frohike was protesting as Scully shut the door,  
  
"Byers is the one who hadda needed to get laid."  
  
"Can't blame a guy for trying." Langley shrugged as Reyes  
  
closed her door.  
  
  
  
Assistant Director Skinner's Office  
  
10:00 AM Eastern Time  
  
Assistant Director Walter Skinner had prided himself on  
  
being a "by-the-book" kind of man. Not in his wildest  
  
dreams did he ever imagine hitching along for a ride on the  
  
wild side. Part of him was screaming at him "Jesus, Walt!  
  
You are less than two years away from retirement and  
  
pension. Why are you throwing it all away now??"  
  
The other part, the part that rose above his uptightness to  
  
stand down Krycek, stand next to Mulder and to stand up to  
  
the Smoking Man when he was still running the show, said  
  
"It's the Right Thing to Do."  
  
And he knew it was. But it still felt wrong.  
  
Still, he got out his cell phone and dialed Starkweather's  
  
number. "Are you ready?" he asked her.  
  
"I've always wanted to be Mata Hari."  
  
"Agent Starkweather," Skinner hissed. "may I remind you of  
  
the seriousness of this matter? If you get caught, I can't  
  
help you."  
  
"With all due respect," Starkweather said sweetly "if YOU  
  
get caught, I can't help you either, so it's sink or swim  
  
for both of us. I'd rather go down grinning than getting my  
  
knickers in a twist about it."  
  
"You're a pain in the ass, Agent Starkweather."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Be carefull."  
  
"You too, sir." Starkweather shut her cell off and looked  
  
at Scully and Sam-in-Doggett with an evil grin. "It's game  
  
time, sports fans. Let's get it on!"  
  
In front of the elevator  
  
The basement of J Edgar Hoover  
  
"So that dark-haired woman was Agent Reyes?" Starkweather  
  
asked Scully as she acted as point-guard while they waited  
  
for the elevator elevator. "Everything happened so fast, I  
  
didn't have time to properly introduce myself."  
  
Scully smiled. "Oh, I'm sure you two will have a chance to  
  
talk at greater length in the future."  
  
Sam inwardly groaned. According to the "current" future,  
  
Ben was going to die soon, then Mulder, then Starkweather,  
  
then... Sam didn't want to think about it.  
  
The elevator whirred down and the doors swished. Scully and  
  
Sam got in. "Don't get killed!" Starkweather cheerily bade  
  
them farewell as the elevator doors slammed shut, taking  
  
her back to the depths of the J Edgar Hoover building.  
  
"She has a way with words, doesn't she?" Scully remarked  
  
blandly as they rode the elevator to the parking garage.  
  
"Yeah..." Oh boy Sam thought.  
  
*******************  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Skinner picked up the phone. "Deputy Director, might I have  
  
a moment of your time?"  
  
"What is this concerning, Assistant Director?" The words  
  
were pleasant enough, but the tone of voice was frigid.  
  
"I've been placed in charge with setting up a task force to  
  
monitor possible cult activities in Idaho. I need to talk  
  
to you about budgeting and manpower. After Waco and Ruby  
  
Ridge, no one is really eager to be a team player when it  
  
comes to missions like this." Skinner said evenly, knowing  
  
that this would appeal to Kersh's hardcore belief of "The  
  
FBI MUST look good at all costs."  
  
"I have some time." Kersh said slowly.  
  
"Let's meet in the cafeteria," Skinner suggested. "I  
  
haven't had breakfast yet," which was true. He had declined  
  
the doughnuts at Scully's, instead, drinking cup after cup  
  
of her good Vienna Roast coffee.  
  
Known more for his girth than his mirth, Kersh agreed.  
  
"I'll meet you down there in five minutes." Kersh hung up  
  
the phone and went to his file to dig up old cases to use  
  
as possible scenarios on how to handle the situation.  
  
Skinner redialed Starkweather's cell on his own mobile.  
  
Starkweather, who was already back down in the dungeon, was  
  
piling files after files on her desk. "Starkweather."  
  
"We're meeting in five minutes."  
  
"Bring it on," she said to him, hung up, put the last file  
  
on top of the tottering stack on her desk. She dialed  
  
Skinner's secretary's extension. "Kimberly, hi, it's Agent  
  
Starkweather, look I have a BIG favor to ask of you,  
  
Skinner asked me to up some old X-Files cases to him,  
  
anything that has to do with cult involvement. I've got the  
  
case files here, but I completely forgot that the about the  
  
rule about not letting the originals leave the office and I  
  
have no time to photocopy them," she could feel Kimberly's  
  
blood pressure rising. "I'm so sorry, I hate dumping this  
  
on you but it would save my ass..."  
  
Kimberly stifled a sigh. "I suppose so," the long suffering  
  
receptionist muttered.  
  
"Say..." Starkweather said, as if the thought had just hit  
  
her. "Maybe Kersh's secretary can help you. Kersh won't be  
  
there barking orders at the poor girl, she'd probably be  
  
happy to get away from him." Starkweather felt relief when  
  
Kimberly tittered in nervous laughter. She didn't like  
  
Kersh either.  
  
As soon as she finished the call, Starkweather beat feet  
  
into the bathroom and waited for the secretaries to come  
  
downstairs.  
  
Starkweather didn't have to wait long. She heard two female  
  
voices outside. "Ew, it smells funny down here," Kersh's  
  
receptionist commented in disgust.  
  
"That's from all the dead bodies they hide down here,"  
  
Kimberly replied.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Naw, I'm just pulling your leg," Kimberly said. "But you  
  
know what I heard?"  
  
Starkweather rolled her eyes. The women had chosen to stop  
  
and gossip in front of the bathroom door. Come on she  
  
griped to herself. GET IN THE OFFICE!!  
  
"What?"  
  
"I heard that Agents Mulder and Scully used to come in on  
  
Saturday afternoons and just go at it right on the floor of  
  
their office."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Oh for Christ's sake Starkweather bowed her head and  
  
put her palm to her forehead in supreme irritation. So  
  
Mulder and Scully had sex. Big fucking deal... can we GET  
  
on with things already ladies?  
  
"Well," Kersh's receptionist said tartly. "Just goes to  
  
show how spooky those two are. I mean, it's not like  
  
they're the first male-female to have an affair, but most  
  
of them prefer motel rooms."  
  
"I know! And Agent Scully was well... you know...  
  
**normal** before she started working with Mulder...  
  
although, can you hardly blame her, the man is to die  
  
for." Kimberly said dramatically.  
  
Starkweather thought she was going to vomit.  
  
"Oh, I know, I saw him on TV last night for a City Counsel  
  
meeting and he was all cleaned up, in a three piece suit...  
  
oh! He looked like he could have been on the cover of GQ.  
  
Such a sexy man. If I wasn't married..."  
  
"Speaking of married..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think the other two agents are trying to follow in  
  
Mulder and Scully's path..."  
  
"Agent Doggett and.... But I thought Starkweather was  
  
married?"  
  
Starkweather IS married, you cow Starkweather fumed.  
  
The voices started to die away just as the conversation was  
  
getting interesting. Starkweather pushed her massive  
  
irritation away from her (for now) and slipped out of the  
  
bathroom and to the stairs where she ran towards her  
  
current mission...  
  
Nailing Kersh.  
  
Starkweather slipped unnoticed into the first room of  
  
Kersh's office, the secretary's office. She shut the door  
  
with a sigh of relief. She went over to Kersh's door and  
  
tried to open it.  
  
"You snake from the bowels of hell," she snarled when she  
  
discovered the Deputy Director had locked his office door.  
  
"You act like a man with something to hide." She reached up  
  
and fumbled around with her hair, pulled, as usual,  
  
severely up and back in a neat bun. She found a hairpin and  
  
as she jimmied the lock, she sighed. "This is so Nancy  
  
Drew-ish."  
  
The lock popped open and Agent Jerilyn Starkweather stepped  
  
into the monsters lair.  
  
Starkweather sniffed the air, her mind calculating every  
  
observation, forgetting nothing. Weird... I smell  
  
cigarette smoke... like Ben's cigarettes... maybe Ben was  
  
here earlier today... but J. Edgar just went 100% no  
  
smoking... hm. Interesting.  
  
Cradling her bad right wrist in her hand, she sat down at  
  
Kersh's elegant mahogany desk. "Son of a bitch gets a  
  
mahogany desk and I get plywood. How is this fair?" She  
  
asked herself as she opened his desk drawer and riffled  
  
through his papers with a gentle lover's touch.  
  
Her clumsy right hand, still in a cast from her rather  
  
unfortunate run in with an alien bounty hunter accidently  
  
knocked over a stack of books that were teetering on the  
  
edge of his desk.  
  
"Shit!" Starkweather jumped at the deafening noise and  
  
looked up, half expecting to see a SWAT team descend upon  
  
her.  
  
When no big burly men dressed in black stormed the doors,  
  
Starkweather bent down to pick up the books. "'Roots' by  
  
Alex Haley. Man," she snickered, immensely pleased with her  
  
superior intellect, "I read this when I was ten. 'Kiss the  
  
Girls' by James Patterson..." a huge movie buff, she  
  
wondered aloud: "I wonder if this is better than the  
  
movie," she adored Morgan Freeman. She moved on to the next  
  
book. "'The Silence of the Lambs'... okay, Kersh, now  
  
you're scaring me." Lastly, she picked up a yellow legal  
  
pad and thumbed through it. "Hello... since when did NASDAQ  
  
have anything to do with the Federal Bureau of  
  
Investigation?"  
  
On the sixth page of the legal pad, scribbled in the corner  
  
in Kersh's bad handwriting, were notes that would be  
  
gibberish to most, but a lexicon of knowledge and  
  
information to a rabid stockholder. "You rat-bastard," she  
  
seethed as she rearranged the books and notebook back on  
  
his desk exactly as it was. "And you know everything I  
  
touch in this office is inadmissible, don't you. Scum  
  
sucking, bed-wetting, foul-smelling troll of a man...  
  
hello..." Starkweather's eyes lit upon Kersh's Day Planner.  
  
"La la la," she sang under her breath as she undid the  
  
clasp...  
  
  
  
*********************************************  
  
Meanwhile  
  
at the cafeteria  
  
Skinner kept his face stony as Kersh went on and on and on  
  
about how vital it was that the FBI's reputation remains  
  
unmarred. He was vehementally against Skinner's stakeout  
  
plans in Idaho, which he knew he would be. It was just a  
  
carrot for the ass to bite. Little did the ass know that  
  
Skinner was riding him, making him move forward by holding  
  
that carrot ahead of him on a string.  
  
Skinner tried not to look at the clock but couldn't help  
  
it. He didn't know how much busy work Starkweather left for  
  
the hapless secretaries. He didnt' know how much time she  
  
needed in Kersh's office. His stomach was in knots but as  
  
usual, he didn't show it, just pleasantly sipped his coffee  
  
and listened to his boss enjoy the sound of his own voice.  
  
******************************************  
  
Meanwhile  
  
back to the future...  
  
Doggett sat alone in the imaging chamber, trying to stave  
  
off boredom but not really suceeding. Even after Al's  
  
barraging, he still didn't quite believe what was going on  
  
plus it ticked him off momentously that every question Al  
  
posed for him was all about Starkweather. She was married.  
  
That's it. End of story.  
  
But as persistent as the scrappy little Italian-American  
  
Admiral was, Doggett couldn't help but wonder WHY he was so  
  
concerned for his spitfire partner. As she was fond of  
  
reminding everyone, Starkweather was a big girl, she could  
  
take care of herself...  
  
So Doggett sat there and tried to fight the boredom for he  
  
knew that boredom led to nervousness, nervousness led to  
  
fear, fear led to mistakes...  
  
Still, he couldn't help but worry... I hope she's okay  
  
Then, the lights flickered, went out, and turned back on.  
  
Doggett could hear the sounds of computers rebooting from  
  
the outside. Shit, I hope I'M okay...  
  
Al was with Goushie when the lights began to flicker. "Oh  
  
crap, what the hell is THIS??" Al gestured upwards pointing  
  
to the lights.  
  
Goushie fled to his read-out screen. "The virus has moved!  
  
It jumped the firewall. Oh geez... it's in the main power  
  
grid," he began typing frantically. "I'm moving Ziggy's  
  
power over to the backup generator A." Goushie typed and  
  
moved his mouse frantically. "Call the techs," Goushie  
  
said, wiping sweat out of his eyes. "Tell them to shut the  
  
main power grid down on my count."  
  
Al, for once, did what he was told without questioning.  
  
"Hello? Yeah, we know about the power grid. Goush's already  
  
moving Ziggy's juice over to a backup generator. He said to  
  
shut down the main power on his count," he covered the  
  
mouthpiece. "They're ready," he handed the phone over to  
  
Goushie.  
  
"Okay, on my count... three, two .... one, NOW!" The lights  
  
went off again, but went back on just as fast. All the  
  
computers, except for Ziggy went down. Only half of them  
  
rebooted.  
  
"I took half of the personal computers offline to save  
  
power," Goushie said. "Crap, this is worst than expected."  
  
"What happened Goush?" Al's voice had a dangerous ring to  
  
it. "I thought this was under control."  
  
Goushie said. "According to my readouts, Ziggy's still  
  
okay. Her RAM, her hard-drive, her modem... all that's  
  
still good to go. The virus traveled through her uplink to  
  
the computer that controls the power. We've got three more  
  
backup generators besides the one we're on now, besides  
  
that, the techs are out there as we speak, fixing up the  
  
main powergrid so that will be as good as gold by the end  
  
of the day. So it's not losing power that I'm afraid of."  
  
"It's Ziggy."  
  
Goushie nodded. "The only clue we're going to have that  
  
Ziggy's starting to circle the drain is if you appear to  
  
Starkweather."  
  
"That hasn't happened yet."  
  
"You haven't been around her lately."  
  
Al grimaced. This was true. "That's too big of risk to  
  
take. Having that wildcat see me. She already thinks she's  
  
going insane because she can hear me..."  
  
Al let himself into the holding chamber. The only source of  
  
amusement Al was getting out of this entire leap was how  
  
uncomfortable and self-conscious Doggett-in-Sam was in that  
  
tight tight tight white leotard. Doggett always looked like  
  
he was looking for a hole to dive into.  
  
In fact, his first words to Al was: "Hey, if I'm going to  
  
be here for awhile, could I at least have a pair of pants?"  
  
"We've got bigger problems than your britches right now,  
  
Marine," Al sat down. "We gotta talk. You gotta help me.  
  
We're in big trouble."  
  
That was plain talk and that was what Doggett responded to.  
  
"Will you tell me what the hell is going on then?"  
  
Present day  
  
Courthouse; Washington, D.C.  
  
9:56 AM  
  
****************************  
  
"The plans for the new Bay Street Park are ready, sir."  
  
Mulder said into the speakerphone.  
  
"Deputy Mayor," said his boss, voice quavering in  
  
disbelief, "are you sure this design is what you had in  
  
mind?"  
  
"Sure I'm sure. The kids will love it." Mulder said, making  
  
the 34th attempt at getting a pencil to stick on his ten-  
  
foot-high wooden ceiling.  
  
"Mulder, it looks to me like a spaceship."  
  
"Don't you think the neighborhood kids will get a kick out  
  
of it?" Now, he had a different approach. He got a  
  
paperclip, straightened it, and tosssed it above his head.  
  
"The flower arrangements look like those cartoon aliens."  
  
"Shit!" Mulder cursed as the paperclip landed point-down  
  
dangerously close to his eye.  
  
"What was that, Mr. Mulder?"  
  
"Oh, sorry sir, paper cut." Paper cuts are a far cry from  
  
getting beat up and kicked around by that Flukeman thing  
  
Mulder inwardly grumbled.  
  
"What, you think I'd make them look like those things in  
  
ID4? Hey, what if I added bushes that looked like Sweetums  
  
from Marvin the Martian?" Oh well, at least Scully and  
  
Skinner are still in for a good fight.  
  
"Mulder, A.D. Skinner may have tolerated your behavior,"  
  
the mayor barked, "but we don't go for that science-fiction  
  
comic strip shit around here. I want a revision of those  
  
Bay Street Park plans PRONTO!"  
  
"Yes sir." Mulder said, hanging up. "And while I've got my  
  
lips up your *ss, I'll just watch as I my mind goes numb  
  
from boredom." He mumbled. Being forced away from his  
  
passion, tucked away like an old toy nobody wanted anymore-  
  
-that was scarier than any freak of nature he ever faced on  
  
the x-files.  
  
Getting an idea, he picked up the phone.  
  
"Bunny," he said, revelling in the one perk...namely Bunny  
  
O'Dell this coushy job had to offer.  
  
"Yeeeeessss, Foxy." She huffed into the receiver.  
  
"Can you bring me some tacks?"  
  
"Anything you say." She said, giggling flirtatiously. What  
  
Mulder wouldn't have given for Scully to see that! Now,  
  
maybe he could get those tacks up there on the ceiling if  
  
he aimed juuuuuuust right...  
  
Just four floors below Mulder's rather sizable office  
  
window, completely undetected, two men waited for just the  
  
right opportunity.  
  
"Yo, Danny, is that it?"  
  
"Yep, Caster, that's gotta be it...that's the lisence tag  
  
the old man gave us and the 'I Believe' sticker and  
  
everything. There's something I can't figure, though."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Why he wants it."  
  
"Maybe the guy ticked him off." He offered and began  
  
evaluating the kind of lock, getting the toolbox out. "Hey,  
  
take the look-out, will ya?"  
  
"Sure thing, Cas."  
  
"You know what else I can't figure?"  
  
"Those rubix cube things?" Caster rambled, "Yeah, those are  
  
tough...I can't figure those crossword puzzles in the  
  
Sunday paper, neither."  
  
"Would you just get the damn lock off! I ain't talking  
  
about that...I can't figure why he wants it braught back."  
  
"He wants it back?!" Caster echoed, popping the lock off  
  
finally, and opening the door. He crawled through, and  
  
Danny got the toolbox and got in on the other side. "Maybe  
  
he just wants to take it for a test drive."  
  
"Whatevah. It's $500 for bothuvus. I figure it's worth it."  
  
Danny said, and hotwired the engine, making off with the  
  
vehicle, completely unnoticed.  
  
Mulder, totally unaware of what was going on down on the  
  
street below, wished he had a good trashcan to kick as he  
  
made attempt number 54 with the tacks. "Maybe I'll get  
  
lucky with a green one."  
  
Lawfirm of Carter, Spangle, and Adams  
  
*************************************  
  
Yes, for Counselor Benjamin Starkweather, the previous  
  
night not withstanding, everything was definitely looking  
  
up. Even that would be ammended with a peace offering. He  
  
had that gift in mind for their anniversary, but something  
  
else for that occasion could be arranged. He was not going  
  
to spend another night in a hotel room.  
  
All the T's had been crossed, and the I's had been dotted.  
  
All there was to do now was sit back and wait. He couldn't  
  
wait to see the twelve expressions of complete and total  
  
disbelief on the jurors faces as he asked the new Deputy  
  
Mayor what happened on his last case with the FBI. "Mulder,  
  
I hope you're enjoying that pretty office window view now,  
  
because by the time I get through with you, you will fall  
  
flat on your face rambling on like an idiot about alien DNA  
  
crap. There's no one to cover your *ss this time, pal." He  
  
said to himself, flipping a pencil in the air. It wasn't  
  
that he hated the Deputy Mayor. He had nothing personal  
  
against the man...he just resented him for the crusade that  
  
drove his wife to that redneck ex-cop partner of hers.  
  
Special Agent John Doggett was another man he could not  
  
wait to see squirm.  
  
He resented Fox Mulder.  
  
He hated John Doggett.  
  
Meanwhile, parked on the corner going in the opposite  
  
direction on the street below, Scully and Sam waited in  
  
Doggett's pick-up truck.  
  
"Wanna start a pool to see how long it takes for him to  
  
move?" Scully joked, taking a sip of Diet Coke. "I got dibs  
  
on 3:15."  
  
"What do you think he's up to?" Sam asked, biting into his  
  
overdone, overpriced hot dog with everything.  
  
"He's probably trying to see if he can get a tack stuck on  
  
a ten-foot high ceiling." Scully said with a laugh. Sam  
  
couldn't help but chuckle a little.  
  
"Not Mulder, Ben."  
  
"Oh." Scully said awkwardly. "Well...I think he's probably  
  
been buttering Kersh's bread. I think he believes he's on  
  
the right side, and so my guess is he's scrounging up good  
  
solid evidence against you to show a jury who watches too  
  
much 'Law and Order.'  
  
"'Law and Order'?" Sam questioned. It had been years since  
  
he got to watch television.  
  
"Never mind. I forgot you only watch ESPN."  
  
"Sorry we never got the message to you about the boys  
  
staking out the payphone." Sam said after a few minutes of  
  
silence.  
  
"Sorry for who?" Scully demanded, "Me or the boys?"  
  
"I'm--not sure." Sam faltered.  
  
"Watch the side-view." Scully said flatly  
  
Back at Kersh's  
  
Starkweather flipped through Kersh's Day Planner, searching  
  
for anything out of the ordinary. "Meetings, meetings,  
  
meetings, golf. Meetings, meetings, meetings, golf.  
  
Meetings, meetings, meeting... whoa... what's this...  
  
Northwestern Flight 82A, Phoenix Arizona..." She repeated  
  
the city's name, rolling the word around in her mouth as if  
  
tasting wine. "Phoenix. Phoenix... who the hell is in..."  
  
She froze, remembering words from a heated fight not that  
  
long ago....  
  
************************************************  
  
Starkweather's apartment  
  
A few weeks ago....  
  
"Your ego gets fed by being one step ahead of the enemy. I mean,  
  
every after you got fired, FIRED, canned 86'ed from the Bureau  
  
for taking the fall for that oil rig explosion, you STILL  
  
found a way to get reinstated. But you weren't expecting  
  
your body to fail you, did you? How many times were you out  
  
sick before Kersh ordered the fitness test? You were  
  
screwed and this time there was nothing you could do about  
  
it. But ever after Kersh found a way to get rid of you for  
  
good, you still found a way to weasel back on to the X-  
  
Files, but Skinner could only pull enough strings to make  
  
you a consultant. But you know what they say, those who  
  
can't do, consult. Not the same as being out in the field.  
  
Ego in shambles, when my father approached you, you whored  
  
yourself out worse than a lot lizard in Arkansas. You hate  
  
yourself because you said 'yes' to him because you have  
  
always prided yourself being your own man, but now you're  
  
just one of his many puppets he has all over the United  
  
States. And you sit in your pretty office, bored silly  
  
because handling a garbage strike isn't exactly in the same  
  
league as black oil and fallen angels. But instead of  
  
getting off your ass and fighting like you used to fight,  
  
you sit and play the political game, waiting for my father  
  
to come through because he's the last angel in the  
  
government game that you've got left. He's the only one who  
  
can get you back into the Federal Bureau of Investigation."  
  
Mulder's eyes crinkled in amusement. "What makes you so  
  
sure?"  
  
"Because the Admiral is the one holding Kersh's leash,"  
  
Starkweather said smugly. "When my father feels like  
  
repaying you, he'll pull Kersh's chain and you'll have your  
  
little dungeon office back. But he's probably going to wait  
  
until Skinner's retired and Doggett takes his place as AD.  
  
You have two very long years at City Hall to look forward  
  
to. Two long years of sweating it out, wondering what else  
  
my father may request of you. I'm know my dad well enough  
  
that he wants more than just to watch my ass."  
  
"I assure you," Mulder said in his maddeningly  
  
expressionless manner. "Your father came to us in all  
  
sincerity, concerned about only with your safety. I am well  
  
aware of his power, but he has no other agenda. That is the  
  
truth."  
  
"Bullshit!" Starkweather snapped. "He wants something else  
  
and you sold out! Did your balls get left in the casket  
  
along with your brain? I've seen him do this before!" (from  
  
Starkweather:Introitus)  
  
*****************************************************  
  
"My father is in Phoenix..." Sedona to be more accurate,  
  
but Phoenix was the only city with an airport close by.  
  
Starkweather closed the Day Planner and slid it back to  
  
it's exact position on Kersh's desk. "My father pulls  
  
Kersh's leash," she muttered. "Not the other way around..."  
  
Suddenly, her cell phone vibrated. She looked down at the  
  
message screen and saw Skinner's cell phone number. She  
  
didn't even answer it. It was their signal that the meeting  
  
was over and Kersh and his receptionist were on their way  
  
back.  
  
Starkweather scurried out of Kersh's office, about to lock  
  
the door behind her. Then, she heard Kersh's hated baritone  
  
instructing his secretary outside of the secretary's  
  
office.  
  
Starkweather, with self-preservation being her goal, went  
  
back into Kersh's office, locking the door behind her. She  
  
looked down at the expensive leather sofa against the wall  
  
and threw herself onto the ground next to it. She had just  
  
wedged herself all the way underneath when she heard Kersh  
  
unlock the door and walk in.  
  
I'm toast she thought, sweating.  
  
Starkweather feverently hoped no one would come in and sit  
  
on the couch she was hiding under, she was afraid she would  
  
be squished.  
  
She could hear Kersh shuffling papers at his desk, then the  
  
sound of fingers hitting the keyboard. She tried to control  
  
her breathing as she felt all of her muscles tensing up.  
  
She was definitely in a state of "Flight or Fight" mode,  
  
which was not good, especially since she couldn't go  
  
anywhere yet. C'mon c'mon f*cker, LEAVE already!!! she  
  
silently beseeched him. Don't you have careers to destroy  
  
and lives to make miserable??  
  
The phone rang. Starkweather lifted her head up in  
  
surprise, thumping her head solidly on the bottom of the  
  
couch. "Mmmff!!" she bit down hard on her little whimper of  
  
pain as tears welled up.  
  
Kersh, however, was totally engrossed in his phone  
  
conversation. "Deputy Director Kersh.... ahhh... hello!" he  
  
said warmly, as though talking to an old friend. "I was  
  
just ready to call you... yes, I have my plane tickets  
  
ready... oh, really? Oh... they're refundable, it's no  
  
problem... it would be a pleasure to have you come to  
  
town... where will you be staying... ahhh... yes, I see...  
  
mixing a little business with pleasure then???"  
  
What the holy hell? Starkweather thought.  
  
"Oh she couldn't be doing better. The Minneapolis Field  
  
Office did themselves a great disservice by letting her get  
  
away from them. She is one of the finer agents I've had the  
  
pleasure of working with. Very dedicated. Very though.....  
  
yes I believe she's almost completely recovered from her  
  
injuries...oh... what did she tell you..." A hearty laugh,  
  
then, "Well, Jeremy, she's YOUR daughter, of course she  
  
would downplay her attack... Yes her injuries were quite  
  
more substantial than she told you.... But don't worry, all  
  
of the superficial wounds on her face have healed  
  
completely, the only sign of her attack is her wrist in her  
  
cast. We had to FORCE her to take some downtime... like I  
  
said, she is far and away one of the most dedicated agents  
  
I've had working for me in a very long time..." Another  
  
laugh while Starkweather thought You lying two faced rat  
  
bastard.  
  
"When can I expect you in town? Do you need someone to pick  
  
you up at the airport? Oh, I see... then I can offer you  
  
and the Senator dinner when you get into town...  
  
wonderful... I'll make reservations for three then... see  
  
you when you come in... Good bye Jeremy." He hung up the  
  
phone, fussed a bit longer at his desk, then picked the  
  
phone up again. "It's me... the Admiral is coming to  
  
town... I'm going to wine and dine him and his wife when he  
  
gets in... yes, I'll keep you updated." He hung up and made  
  
one more call to his receptionist. "I'll be out for the  
  
rest of the afternoon. I have some filing for you to do on  
  
my desk. Thank you." He hung up, gathered his papers and  
  
left his office, locking the door.  
  
Ten minutes after he left, Starkweather with a grunt,  
  
wedged herself from out underneath his couch, completely  
  
furious.  
  
Her father was coming into town with business with  
  
**KERSH** of all people. WHY?? she fumed as she left  
  
his office, relocking his door. Kersh's secretary looked up  
  
at her in complete surprise. "Agent Starkweather, whatever  
  
do you think you're doing???"  
  
Starkweather, smiling dangerously, sat up on the  
  
secretary's desk, opening her black blazer just enough so  
  
she could see her gun. "If you don't say anything about me  
  
being in Kersh's office, I won't do anything about those  
  
rather salacious, inappropriate comments you and Kimberly  
  
were making about the four of us in the X-Files office."  
  
She kissed the receptionist on each cheek, and, probably  
  
because of her conversation with Mulder earlier at Scully's  
  
apartment and because she was a HUGE movie buff, said "I  
  
know it was you Fredo," and pranced out of Kersh's office.  
  
Kersh's secretary was so frightened, she typed up her  
  
letter of resignation that day and nearly fled from the J  
  
Edgar Hoover Building.  
  
D.C. County Courthouse  
  
Outside the Mayor's office  
  
11:38 AM  
  
****************************  
  
Whether he was being bought-and-traded out of the FBI or  
  
not, Mulder sincerely liked his new boss. They had hit it  
  
off at the beginning, and, even though it was a quieter  
  
position than what he was used to, Mulder was beginning to  
  
get accustomed to settling down. The Mayor was not Skinner,  
  
and it wasn't nearly as fun getting up his craw as it had  
  
been getting up Skinner's; but Mayor Thomas Swanson was a  
  
good man, despite the legendary reputations that usually  
  
haunted politicians.  
  
For once in his life, Fox Mulder was a regular guy.  
  
"Spooky" Mulder was a part of his past. Oh sure, he'd go  
  
straight back to hunting down the Truth if were he ever  
  
given the opportunity faster than you could say 'alien,'  
  
but yuppydom was a nice, comfortable change of pace, albeit  
  
sometimes too comfortable for his liking. He scooped the  
  
real plans for the Bay Street Park up and began to deliver  
  
them to the Mayor's office. He was about to go in when a  
  
heated conversation stopped him just outside the door.  
  
"Mayor," a man was protesting, "he is in our way. He can't  
  
continue to hold this position without interfering with our  
  
agenda. He says it's an issue of priorities and  
  
securities."  
  
"Priorities and securities or not," the Mayor said "He's a  
  
city-appointed employee, and I cannot legally remove him  
  
from his office."  
  
"You didn't get elected to this office exactly legally."  
  
Said the voice flatly. "The Admiral can pull some strings  
  
to make some sort of a scandal come to the public eye."  
  
"That's blackmail!" the Mayor protested.  
  
"It's not blackmail, it's helping you keeping your  
  
priorities straight. You are aware of the circumstances  
  
under..." the man started, but the Mayor interrupted.  
  
"Yes," The Mayor began, careful to keep his voice even and  
  
angry. "I am aware of how he left, but despite those  
  
allegations, I think he's an assett to this city, and I'm  
  
willing to give him a another chance. Look, I understand  
  
your situation, but I've got the people of D.C. to answer  
  
to--not a bunch of fat cats in Arizona."  
  
Arizona?  
  
"Soon, when all these allegations are brought to light, you  
  
won't think of him so highly. The people of D.C. will think  
  
twice about re-electing a mayor who appoints someone  
  
rattling off about science-fiction crap in a court of law  
  
to a powerful city position."  
  
My God! He's trying to threaten the Mayor into dismissing  
  
me! I might as well kiss my normal *ss good bye  
  
"Be as it may," The Mayor replied heatedly, "I will wait  
  
until he prooves you wrong."  
  
Mulder took his cue here to duck out of view into an empty  
  
conference room.  
  
"I'll see myself out." Said The Man, Mulder couldn't get an  
  
opportunity to see his face.  
  
"Deputy" the Mayor said, greeting Mulder warmly, "finally  
  
came around, huh? Yes...this will do just fine. Good work.  
  
Don't forget the town counsel meeting tomorrow at four."  
  
"Thankyou, sir" Mulder said simply for sticking up for me-  
  
-I wonder what the boys would think about sneaking into the  
  
Mayor's office to find out whose in Arizona and took his  
  
leave.  
  
  
  
12:37 PM  
  
"Scully," Sam sighed heavily, "I don't think he's going to  
  
move today until he has to go home."  
  
"We don't know that for sure, Doggett." Scully replied. "He  
  
may lead us straight to the solution and be none the  
  
wiser."  
  
"Doggett, can I ask you something?"  
  
As long as it doesn't involve anything specific,  
  
yeah...sure "What, Scully?"  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
"I figure this is the only way to get any lead."  
  
Scully shot him an imploring look.  
  
"It's right." Sam said simply. Then ducked, because at just  
  
that moment, Scully did.  
  
"BEN!" She screamed, crouching from view of the windshield.  
  
"Heading for the White Dodge Dynasty! Don't duck, drive!"  
  
Scully hissed, forgetting that there was no possible way  
  
Ben could hear her from the confines of a truck.  
  
Sam cranked the engine up as fast as his reflexes would  
  
allow, and made sure to wait just long enough so that Ben  
  
wouldn't suspect he was being followed.  
  
Ben headed down East on Wilson. Sam was following him close  
  
enough to keep up, but far enough away not to be noticed.  
  
Ben turned a left on Kennedy. Sam got caught by a light,  
  
and lost him for a few beats until he saw the Dodge's  
  
blinker just a few steps ahead, about to turn down Reagan."  
  
"Reagan!" Scully puzzled. "There's nothing on Reagan but a  
  
bunch of flea markets, grocery stores, a photocopy place,  
  
and antique shops!"  
  
"Photocopies." Sam realized. "I bet he found something for  
  
show-and-tell for those jurors."  
  
"You're right. There he is, pulling into it."  
  
Sam parked the car a couple of blocks down the way, and  
  
motioned for Scully to go follow while he parked. Scully  
  
crouched down, and waited in the bushes.  
  
"A squirrel just nibbled the heel of my favorite pumps."  
  
Scully groaned.  
  
"Sorry" Sam said sheepishly.  
  
"I don't know how much longer I can play Crouching Oaf,  
  
Hidden Idiot." Scully said finally after waiting in the  
  
bushes for an hour, kicking off her pumps. "I'm gonna see  
  
if I can get any closer."  
  
"Thank you Mr. Martin." Ben was saying coming out of the  
  
store. "I owe you big time for this one. You just made my  
  
night's sleep a lot nicer."  
  
I wouldn't count on it Sam thought.  
  
"You in the doghouse with that spitfire Missus of yours?"  
  
Mr. Martin asked, handing a small bag to him.  
  
"Yeah," Ben said with an idiot-grin on his face, taking out  
  
the contents of the bag for inspection. "I know when I'm  
  
licked."  
  
"Smart man, Mr. Starkweather, smart man." Mr. Martin said,  
  
turning to go in.  
  
"That's not what the evidence suggests." Scully grumbled on  
  
the other side of the building. She craned her neck as much  
  
as she dared, and could barely make out what the picture  
  
was.  
  
"Agent Starkweather's got a night of heavy breathing ahead  
  
of her." Scully said flatly.  
  
"What makes you say that?" Sam asked, pulling away.  
  
"That was her picture he had photocopied. It's probably a  
  
peace offering."  
  
"You still think he's up to something?"  
  
"Oh, he's up to something alright."  
  
"Can you call Agent Reyes and get her to sit with Will for  
  
the rest of the afternoon."  
  
"I think that can be arranged." Scully answered with a  
  
smile.  
  
3:24 PM  
  
In Doggett's pick-up, Outside the Law Offices of Carter,  
  
Adams and Spangle  
  
"Not that I'm sure Mulder didn't deserve it, but what  
  
exactly does Starkweather have against him?" Sam asked,  
  
sipping his sixth bottle of coke.  
  
"Well, from what I can gather from both Starkweather and  
  
Mulder, I think Mulder was following up on some research of  
  
abductees, and was trying to get information from her  
  
mother. Unfortunately, the timing turned out to be his  
  
disadvantage, because Starkweather's adoptive mother never  
  
regained her lucidity after she lost it during his  
  
questioning."  
  
"So Starkweather is taking her anger over her mother's  
  
death out on Mulder?"  
  
"Probably. In the x-files, issues come with the office  
  
benefits."  
  
"Apparently. Speaking of issues...what's the deal with you  
  
and Mulder?" Not that Sam was usually one to get the skinny  
  
on office gossip, but he couldn't help but wonder what  
  
happened with the 'we're just friends' stance both usually  
  
took.  
  
"Look out your window, Doggett." Scully said flatly, and  
  
gave Sam a wan smile.  
  
"You ever noticed the similarities between Mulder and  
  
Starkweather?"  
  
"Similarities?" Sam asked, getting his sixth coke out of  
  
the cooler.  
  
"Yeah...something around the eyes, same annoying sarcasm,  
  
same stubbornness."  
  
"But Starkweather's more skeptic than Mulder is about  
  
things."  
  
"True. But still..." Scully broke off, because at that  
  
moment, Ben came out of his office again. "Doggett--"  
  
"I'm already on it. Wonder where he's headed so late in the  
  
afternoon?"  
  
"We're about to find out."  
  
Sam tore out of the parking lot across the street from the  
  
office, careful not to go fast enough to make the tires  
  
screech. He followed the car at a safe distance as it turned  
  
on Eisenhower, on Kennedy, and then Lincoln. At the light,  
  
Sam got an idea.  
  
"Scully, take the wheel, I'm gonna go after him on foot.  
  
I'll give ya the signal if something happens."  
  
"Doggett! I can't let you go by--"  
  
"You can argue with me till your face turns blue, and the  
  
car won't have a driver by the next light." Sam said,  
  
unbuckling his safety belt.  
  
"Doggett, your cell phone won't necessarily pick up the  
  
signal inside. Two cans and a string won't exactly work  
  
from here."  
  
"Just catch up with me later!"  
  
"Doggett!" Scully protested, but before she could say  
  
anything, Sam was out of the car, sprinting down the  
  
street.  
  
  
  
Mulder, after an early long, BORING business lunch with a  
  
group of building contractors who wanted to build ANOTHER  
  
shopping mall in DC, gratefully slid into his comfortable  
  
chair in his office. He hated to admit it, but he REALLY  
  
loved his new office. As much as he desired and longed for  
  
the X-Files... it was going to be REALLY hard to go back  
  
into the basement. It's going to be like going back to  
  
your POS car after test driving a brand new Ferrari he  
  
moped as he took out his cell phone and called the Lone  
  
Gunmen.  
  
"Frohike."  
  
"Melvin, you sexy bitch."  
  
"Mulder," Frohike fumed. "You could have warned us about  
  
the Twisted Sisters coming down on us!!!"  
  
"What?" Mulder asked. After Frohike gave Mulder the lowdown  
  
on their run-in with Agents Scully, Reyes and Starkweather,  
  
Mulder just chuckled and said angelically: "Oops."  
  
"'Oops,'" Frohike ranted, a rarity from the man of little  
  
words. "We just about got creamed by the Bitches of  
  
Eastwick and all he says is 'Oops'."  
  
"Hey! At least we found out Byers is a virgin!" Langly  
  
piped up.  
  
"Langly, please, shut up!" Byers was in a permanent state  
  
of blush ever since he made his faux paux.  
  
"Byers is a virgin?" Mulder had overheard Langly's remark.  
  
"Hey, tell him I've got some videos he can borrow."  
  
"Hey, Byers, Mulder said you can borrow his pornos for  
  
those long lonely nights."  
  
"I hate you guys," Byers whined.  
  
"Anyways, what's up, Deputy Mayor?" Frohike got back to  
  
business.  
  
"I need you guys to get into your black formal wear later  
  
on. There's going to be a little party at the Mayor's  
  
office when he leaves for the day."  
  
"Now you're talking," Frohike grunted. "What's the  
  
occasion?"  
  
"Just that I discovered that I still have the gift of  
  
pissing off friends and influencing people into doing harm  
  
unto me and the people I either adore or at least tolerate  
  
on a day to day basis. Someone was threatening the Mayor  
  
into canning me and I want to know why and if it's  
  
connected in any way, shape or form with this whole oil rig  
  
clusterfuck."  
  
"Really?" Frohike was all ears and little talk now. "What  
  
time?"  
  
"The Mayor usually doesn't leave until seven o'clock at  
  
night," the Mayor was truly dedicated to his job and his  
  
city, "but tonight his little girl is having a birthday  
  
party so he's leaving early around three. Most people are  
  
out of here no later than four-thirty."  
  
"Damn City employees," Frohike complained.  
  
"As far as security, surprisingly it's pretty lax. Some  
  
rent-a-cops wander around but they pretty much stay holed  
  
up in the security office watching sports on ESPN. There's  
  
a cleaning crew that comes in late at night, but that's  
  
usually after eight o'clock when everyone is definitely  
  
gone."  
  
"Cake walk then," Frohike then.  
  
"Cool, I love slacker jobs," Langly grinned as he munched  
  
on Funyons.  
  
"There might be nothing there, but tell me EVERYTHING you  
  
find, no matter how small or insignificant you may think it  
  
is. I'll be at Scully's the rest of the night."  
  
"You'll be at Scully's the rest of the night," Frohike  
  
repeated for the other two's benefit.  
  
"Hey, Byers! Cheer up!" Langley punched him joshingly on  
  
his shoulder, "if Mulder can get some, that means there's  
  
hope for you yet!"  
  
"I heard that," Mulder said. "I didn't really appreciate  
  
it."  
  
"Well, hell Mulder," Frohike reasoned. "Before you and  
  
Scully finally hooked up, how long had it been for you? Ten  
  
years?"  
  
"GOOD BYE," Mulder snapped and hung up the phone, groaning.  
  
Why do people make such a big deal about me and Scully?  
  
he wondered just as his cell rang again.  
  
Expecting it to be Frohike again, he snarled "WHAT???"  
  
"Mulder, it's Skinner."  
  
"Oh... sorry sir." Chastised, he mumbled.  
  
"Don't call me sir. Anyway, have you heard from anyone yet?  
  
Doggett, Scully, Starkweather???"  
  
"No si- ummm, Skinner, I haven't. Why?"  
  
"That's just it, I haven't heard a peep all day and I'm  
  
getting concerned." Skinner growled, unawares that at that  
  
time, Starkweather was still hidden underneath Kersh's  
  
couch and Sam-in-Doggett and Scully were staking Ben out on  
  
Reagan Street.  
  
"Should I call them?" Now Mulder was worried, typical  
  
Mulder, getting his boxers in a knot whenever it concerned  
  
Scully.  
  
A pause. "Not yet, but if you don't hear from them by at  
  
least close of business today, I want to know." Skinner  
  
hung up without saying goodbye.  
  
Mulder, now really nervous, a trait he did not like in  
  
himself, got up and started pacing. Just then his cell  
  
rang. He dove for it. "Scully?"  
  
"No, Deputy Mayor, it's me."  
  
"Jerilyn?? What happened? Skinner's got his tightie-whities  
  
in a bunch about you."  
  
"Huh." Starkweather deadpanned. "I always pictured him as a  
  
boxers man, myself. I tried calling him just now, but his  
  
line was busy."  
  
"What happened? Did you find anything in Kersh's office?"  
  
"OH MAN!!" Starkweather exploded, sitting safely at her  
  
tiny desk in the X-Files office. "You will NOT believe what  
  
I just went through!"  
  
Meanwhile  
  
back to the future  
  
QL HQ  
  
Al told Doggett everything, about Sam's maiden leap, about  
  
all the lives he's touched and changed, about his first  
  
brush with the X-Files when he leaped into Agent Dana  
  
Scully (Doggett snorted in disbelief at that one) and about  
  
Sam's current mission. Doggett grew very quiet when Al  
  
started adding up the death toll. He closed his eyes when  
  
Al told him about Jerilyn's impending murder.  
  
"Well?" Al asked.  
  
"Well?" Doggett repeated. "It's a great story for  
  
frightening little kids at bedtime, but what proof do you  
  
have to offer me? I mean, as far as I can tell, this could  
  
all be an elaborate, sick joke. I mean, so far, you've  
  
offered me no proof that it's actually 2011?"  
  
"I thought you'd say that," Al said. "So I brought you  
  
this." He handed Doggett a police file.  
  
Doggett flipped it open, then bolted out of his seat in  
  
horror.  
  
The police photographs fluttered down and Al tried not to  
  
look at the graphic picture of Starkweather's murder. But,  
  
just like rubbernecks on the freeway, looking back at a  
  
gruesome accident, he couldn't help it.  
  
In stark black and white, Starkweather, in a pool of her  
  
own blood was laying on the floor of a Kum-n-Go, a bullet  
  
wound in her forehead, her eyes wide and staring. Al  
  
stooped down, gathered up the files contents and put them  
  
on the table. "Before you say that picture was faked, you  
  
know Starkweather, as morbid as her humor is, would NOT  
  
fake something like that to play a joke on you." Al told an  
  
ashen-faced Doggett. "She knows that would kill you and she  
  
wouldn't hurt her friends like that. Her death certificate  
  
is in there too, along with an autopsy report and newspaper  
  
clippings."  
  
Doggett gingerly took the picture again and tried to look  
  
at it objectively, but couldn't. "This is suppose to  
  
happen....?"  
  
"Three days after Mulder gets killed," and Al held out  
  
another folder for Doggett to look at.  
  
The crime scene photographs for Mulder's murder were far  
  
and away more disturbing that Starkweather's, for it showed  
  
the bars of the prison cell where Mulder was being held for  
  
Ben's murder completely torn away, as if they were tissue  
  
paper. Blood was spattered all over the walls. Mulder's  
  
body looked to be literally broken in half. His eyes, too  
  
much like Starkweather's, were also wide open and staring  
  
into the oblivion.  
  
"Oh, God," Doggett said, flipping through the pictures.  
  
"This is for real, then?" he felt his gut churning. "This  
  
ain't a joke?"  
  
"I wish it was and time is running short and we've got a  
  
situation with our computer system that making it run  
  
shorter-"  
  
But Doggett wasn't listening, he was looking at a picture  
  
of the assumed suspect of Mulder's death. "Oh my God... I  
  
know that man..."  
  
"What?" Al come over to Doggett's side to look at the still  
  
from the prison video monitor system.  
  
With a shaking finger, Doggett tapped the picture. "That's  
  
Billy Miles."  
  
"Who?"  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, in the Present  
  
Shock me," Mulder said dryly, going back to trying to get a  
  
tack on the ceiling, "Shock me with your deviant behavior."  
  
"Mulder--" she warned. "Get back to reality for two  
  
seconds, please. Heads up, because this is big news."  
  
"Whatchya got?"  
  
"Well, dad's blowing into town."  
  
"Thanks for letting me know...tell him I said hi."  
  
"Guess who is wining and dining him when he gets here?"  
  
"You and Ben?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Me and Scully?"  
  
"Hell no."  
  
"As fun as it is playing guessing games with you, just tell  
  
me, please...I don't have time for guess who's coming to  
  
dinner right now."  
  
"Really, so that's why you asked for a dartboard to put in  
  
your office for your birthday?"  
  
"So who's having daddy to dinner?"  
  
"Kersh."  
  
"Any idea why the Deputy Director of the FBI is having a  
  
meeting with an Admiral?"  
  
"I have absolutely no clue."  
  
"I wonder if it has anything to do with someone wanting me  
  
86'ed and the trial coming up."  
  
"Listen, Twilight Zone Poster Boy, quit being so paranoid.  
  
Dad got you that job, remember?"  
  
"You won't let me forget."  
  
"He's not about to get you kicked outta that office faster  
  
than he put you in it. I don't give a flying f*ck about  
  
your ass, but I'll be d*mned if I let Doggett down. I'm  
  
gonna do some digging around Dad's office to see if I can  
  
find any solid proof at his place."  
  
"Did you find anything in Kersh's office?"  
  
"A copy of Roots, Hannibal, and Catching a Spider..."  
  
"So he's taking some lessons from Hannibal Lecter, huh?  
  
Wonder what he's going to Phoenix for. What was Kersh  
  
doodling? Playing hangman by himself?"  
  
"Some numbers...they looked like stockmarket jargon."  
  
Starkweather said, and told him what the numbers were. She  
  
had no clue what they meant.  
  
"That's a helluva hangman score."  
  
"No kidding. I overheard something you might wanna make  
  
something of or not..."  
  
"What's that? You making the watercooler gossip again?"  
  
"Kinda...someone in Arizona tried to get me fired."  
  
"Jiminy Christmas! Arizona? Oh, geez...Mulder...I think I'm  
  
gonna be sick."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"I owe you an apology..."  
  
"Jiminy Christmas?" Mulder scoffed, "What the h*ll is  
  
that?"  
  
"Fuck off."  
  
"That's better."  
  
"Mulder," Starkweather threatened, "if you tell ANYONE we  
  
had this conversation, I will PERSONALLY make sure you are  
  
permanently pissing through a tube faster than you can say  
  
extraterrestrial."  
  
"Duely noted..." Mulder gulped. "So, tell me...how did you  
  
get a hold of this information?"  
  
"Well, Skinner called Kersh out of his office, and I snuck  
  
in."  
  
"How did you sneak out? By slithering?"  
  
"Pretty much." Starkweather admitted. "I hid under the  
  
couch and waited till the two-faced rat-b*stard left."  
  
"I think two-faced rat-b*stard is the chartered name for  
  
the bad-guy club down there. How did you get past the  
  
secretary?"  
  
"We made an arrangement. She agreed to be silent. I agreed  
  
to let her live."  
  
"Sounds like you're learning the ropes pretty fast." Mulder  
  
chuckled. "Well, Hurricane, you better let Skinner know  
  
Kersh didn't have you for dinner."  
  
"Oh, blow me."  
  
"That's Ben job, isn't it?"  
  
"That's a mature response coming from the Deputy Mayor of  
  
Washington. It's a relief to know this city's in good  
  
hands." Starkweather deadpanned.  
  
"Oh, *blow me* is *REAL* mature."  
  
"As much as I would love to continue the captivating debate  
  
we're having, this little hurricane's gotta blow outta  
  
here. I gotta do a little digging."  
  
"Look, off the record, Starkweather, with your foster  
  
mother...I was only looking for some answers. I almost lost  
  
Scully to the same thing she died from, and my sister  
  
disappeared when I was twelve. I was trying to find her,  
  
and I stepped on lots of toes along the way...and, well..."  
  
"I'll take that as an apology." Starkweather interrupted.  
  
"I wasn't kidding when I said I had some digging to do. I  
  
won't let anything happen to either Scully or Doggett, and  
  
if that means keeping you around, then so be it. This whole  
  
oil-rig deal is my fight just as much as it is yours,  
  
whether we like it or not. Besides, after this deal, I  
  
think I'm going to ask to be transferred into Quantico."  
  
"Starkweather, when we first met, you said I was spineless  
  
for not being my own person. All I've got to say about you  
  
going to Quantico is, if the lab coat fits, wear it."  
  
"Excuse me? I *EARNED* my place here. Being stuffed down  
  
into your little crusade was NOT my choice *pal*. I was  
  
assigned here! What the fucking right do you think you  
  
have going around shoving crap in my face like--"  
  
"Before you go off on me, I didn't say you didn't earn your  
  
place. I don't think we would've been able to have as many  
  
leads on this case right now as we've got without you on  
  
the team. All I'm saying, is if you go to Quantico, you are  
  
leaving behind every opportunity you've ever had to be  
  
honest with yourself and find the truth. I may be  
  
spineless, but at least I'm not living a pretty lie."  
  
"My pretty lie is all I have. You're spineless not because  
  
you're Dad's puppet, but because you know the truth and do  
  
nothing about it."  
  
"What is that lie, Starkweather? A marriage going down the  
  
drain? An adoptive father pulling strings under your nose  
  
and pulling the wool over the world's eyes? You're a damn  
  
good investigator, Starkweather. All I'm trying to say is,  
  
maybe the lie isn't as good as the truth could be. I am not  
  
in a position to do anything about the truth that's out  
  
there right now, but you...are."  
  
"Mulder, this isn't my crusade. If it *is* my crusade,"  
  
Starkweather softened, hardly able to believe she was  
  
pouring her heart out to someone she barely tolerated,  
  
"then I have to fight against my father, and I don't think  
  
I'm ready to do that."  
  
"I know, Starkweather. Just think at least about staying on  
  
with the x-files, ok? Keep me posted on what you find out  
  
about the case, too."  
  
"That's my job, Mulder. Getting my *ss kicked by E.T.'s,  
  
sneaking around two-faced rat-b*st*rd lairs, and keeping  
  
you posted." She said, and hung up.  
  
"What bug got up *her* ass and died?" Mulder grumbled, and  
  
barely had time to make one more attempt at getting a tack  
  
stuck to the ceiling before the phone rang again.  
  
"Mulder."  
  
"It's me."  
  
"What's going on Scully? Everything ok?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I'm on Lincoln street and Doggett just  
  
played half a game of Chinese fire drill."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He got out of the car, Mulder, and is now following Ben on  
  
foot."  
  
"What?! Why? Did he give you a reason."  
  
"None whatsoever. Feels like the good old days when *you*  
  
used to do the same thing."  
  
"Guess who's coming to town?"  
  
"Elvis. Mulder, I really don't have time for this."  
  
"Go on, guess."  
  
"Mulder, now is *not* the time to go back and forth. I'm  
  
pulling into this warehouse."  
  
"Kersh is taking Admiral Bailey to dinner right before our  
  
trial."  
  
"And this is important to us, how?"  
  
"Admiral Bailey has a lot of influence over Kersh...he has  
  
a lot of influence over a lot of people in very high  
  
positions."  
  
"What *OF* it, Mulder?"  
  
"I overheard some watercooler gossip about someone in  
  
Arizona needing me 86'ed again. Admiral Bailey is in  
  
Arizona."  
  
"Mulder, I think you're jumping conclusions again."  
  
"I think Admiral Bailey has Kersh wrapped around his  
  
finger."  
  
"Starkweather?" Scully hissed, scooting down out of sight  
  
under some hedges. "You think she's part of the deal?"  
  
"I really don't think she's aware of exactly how powerful  
  
her father is, and what's more, I think she earned her  
  
place at the FBI. At any rate, be careful. Keep me posted  
  
about what you find out."  
  
As much as Sam loved catching up with Scully, he needed to  
  
touch base with Al. Getting out of that truck was the only  
  
way he could think of to get away from Scully without being  
  
sent to a psych ward for talking to thin air.  
  
"Al! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!" Sam hollared as loudly as his lungs  
  
could spare as he sprinted down Lincoln in the general  
  
direction Ben's car was headed. It wasn't long before the  
  
thin blue light of the door appeared and with the click and  
  
sweep of the chamber door.  
  
"The warehouse is a coupla blocks, Sam!" Al shouted after  
  
him, "I'll meetchya there!"  
  
"Al," Sam huffed, and doubled over from exhaustion. "I--uh-  
  
-Ben--"  
  
"Calm down, Sam. I got some good news and some bad news."  
  
"Good news?"  
  
"Doggett finally decided to trust us, and we finally have  
  
the story on Mulder's murder."  
  
"Bad news?"  
  
"You're not gonna like this."  
  
"It can't be worse than anything else that's happened  
  
today. Out with it..."  
  
"Ziggy's on the fritz still. We can't expell the virus  
  
outta the system, so there's still a good chance that we'll  
  
hafta shut down in a few hours."  
  
"What do you know...today can get worse." Sam implored no  
  
one in particular.  
  
"That's not all."  
  
"That's not all?!" Sam echoed. "What is this? Am I supposed  
  
to jump into a whale, build an ark? Tell me!"  
  
"The killer apparently is a super-human alien."  
  
"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Sam demanded.  
  
"You're supposed to stop Ben from getting killed. Which,  
  
right now, don't look too easy considering he's about to go  
  
into that warehouse."  
  
"Jump ahead of me, and see what he's up to, I'm gonna wait  
  
on Scully."  
  
Without a word, the chamber door was open and Al was gone.  
  
"Doggett," Scully said, running up from a behind a bush a  
  
few seconds later, "For nine years now, I have been putting  
  
up with this kinda crap from Mulder, and now, I'm putting  
  
up with this from you. Do you have ANY idea of what my life  
  
is like?"  
  
"A better idea than you think, Scully." Sam said, going  
  
inside.  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Doggett!?" Scully  
  
hissed, running after him.  
  
They stopped short and crouched behind a couple of boxes.  
  
"What's he doing here?" Sam hissed, keeping his gaze peeled  
  
between Ben and the door.  
  
"Isn't that what we're hear to find out?" Scully answered,  
  
getting her gun out of her ankle holster.  
  
"I'll check outside and see if anyone's on their way, Sam."  
  
Al suggested, and popped out.  
  
A few minutes later, almost instantly, the warehouse door  
  
opened like a garage door, and a black sedan drove through.  
  
With Ben out of sight, four men got out, one of whom was  
  
Kersh, another of whom was the Mayor, and another of whom  
  
was the Admiral.  
  
"You won't listen to us then?" Kersh was saying. "He's the  
  
laughing-stock of D.C. A c*cktail party joke...the stuff  
  
late-night talk shows and political cartoons are made of."  
  
"I don't think our agenda can be met with him here." A man  
  
was saying, going to a box.  
  
"I think you're wrong." The Mayor was saying, "A city  
  
position such as his has no real power; he knows nothing of  
  
our plans, and there is no reason why he has to be taken  
  
through the ringer because of it! In all good  
  
consciousness, I can't follow through with this."  
  
"He is a threat to our existence, and a threat to my  
  
daughter." Admiral Bailey was saying.  
  
"How is who a threat to the little hurricane?!" Al  
  
demanded. It was very theraputic being a hologram  
  
sometimes, maddening at others.  
  
"If you won't get him out of his office, we will eliminate  
  
him another way."  
  
"Admiral, I smell his brand of cigarettes." Kersh said.  
  
"You--think he's here?"  
  
"I--uh--wonder...he woudlnt' be caught dead in that white  
  
dodge that was parked outside, that's for sure." The  
  
Admiral said with a chuckle. "My son-in-law has a car like  
  
that...had it in grad school."  
  
"If Ben is around here, then he knows our plans."  
  
"We haven't been specific enough, he hasn't heard anything  
  
he can back up." The mayor began to protest.  
  
"Exactly whose side are you on, Mr. Mayor?" Kersh demanded.  
  
"The right one."  
  
"For your sake, I hope so." Admiral Bailey replied. "It  
  
would be awful if the Mayor had a heart attack in the  
  
middle of his term at his granddaughter's birthday party."  
  
"Speaking of which, hadn't you better be going?" Kersh  
  
said, grinning like a snake. Three of the men then got in  
  
the car. The man that they couldn't recognize went over to  
  
one of the boxes, and got out a vile of grass-green liquid,  
  
opened the driver's door, and the warehouse door opened  
  
again, and drove off.  
  
Lazily, Morris Nigcht, the security guard looked up from  
  
the "Toughman Contest" he was watching on FX to check the  
  
survelliance monitor that recorded the ins and outs of the  
  
front doors to City Hall. All he saw were three goofy  
  
looking guys from the cleaning crew that came every night  
  
to pick up the messes the city employees so thoughtfully  
  
left for them every night. "Weirdos," he mumbled as he  
  
reached for his coffee and doughnuts and turned his  
  
attention back to his television show.  
  
Meanwhile, the Lone Gunmen, dressed in the garb of a  
  
cleaning crew, armed with caddies of cleaning supplies that  
  
they had no idea how to use and a giant trash barrel on  
  
wheels, blithely walked right in and into the elevator.  
  
"Damn, that was easy," Langly crooned when the elevator  
  
door shut and they were safely on their way up to the  
  
Mayor's office.  
  
"Too easy," Frohike grumbled.  
  
"What's got your coaxial cable in a knot?" Langly's nose  
  
flared in irritation.  
  
"Got a bad feelin'," was all that could be coaxed from  
  
Frohike.  
  
"Frohike," Byers nagged, "a few hours ago, you said that  
  
this was going to be a cake walk."  
  
"That was a few hours ago."  
  
Byers and Langly looked at each other and shrugged.  
  
The elevator doors whooshed opened and the intrepid boys  
  
let themselves out. "Alright, where did Mulder say the  
  
Mayor's haunt was?" Langly asked.  
  
Byers pulled a map out of his cleaning uniform. "He said it  
  
was two suites down from his office, on the left... so I  
  
think it's this way."  
  
Ten minutes later, the boys turned around and walked the  
  
other way towards the Deputy Mayor's and Mayor's office.  
  
"Damn narc," Frohike grumbled.  
  
"Mulder must have meant HIS left," Byers tried to justify  
  
himself.  
  
"Hey, speaking of Mulder," Langly pointed to a heavy oak  
  
door with the gold plaque reading "The Honorable Deputy  
  
Mayor F. William Mulder" hanging on it. "HONORABLE?? Oh gag  
  
me." Langly made retching noises. "I wonder if it's as  
  
swank as he tells us it is..." A glimmer of mischief  
  
glistened in the eyes behind the thick black glasses.  
  
"Langly, no, we don't have tim-" Byers tried to protest,  
  
but too late, Langly had already jimmied the lock.  
  
All three stood in the doorway, gawping. "Whoa daddy," was  
  
all that Langly could get out.  
  
Like three alley cats sneaking into an upper class  
  
townhouse, the boys tiptoed in, instantly sinking into the  
  
luxuriously soft cream carpet. "Damn!" Langly threw himself  
  
on the fawn colored leather sofa. "I think his new office  
  
is nicer than his APARTMENT!" He looked up. "What's up with  
  
all the tacks in the ceiling?"  
  
Byers meanwhile, had made a beeline for Mulder's exspansive  
  
desk. "Guys, this is solid cherry!" he exclaimed. "I think  
  
it's an antique!"  
  
"Who cares?" Frohike was getting nervous.  
  
"Yeah, you nerd," Langly rebuffed him. "No one gives a  
  
crap. Speaking of crap, I wonder if he's got his own  
  
crapper in this high-fa-lootin' joint?"  
  
"No, that priviledge is reserved for those with real  
  
power."  
  
Mulder's trademark monotone made all the boys jump up in  
  
alarm. "Mulder, what the hell?" Langly said. "Thought you  
  
said that you're goin' to Scully's?"  
  
"I will be, as soon as my cab gets here," Mulder examined  
  
the doorknob. "I've got to invest in better locks."  
  
"A cab? Why? Car in the shop?" Frohike asked.  
  
"Well, it's probably in a shop of some sorts, being  
  
dismantled and sold for hot parts all over the Continental  
  
US. My car was stolen this afternoon."  
  
"Man, that sucks," Langly said, now sniffing around the  
  
candy jar sitting on the end-table next to the sofa.  
  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious.. hey, get out of there!"  
  
Langly, pouting, put the lid back on the jar. "There's  
  
nothin' but freakin' sunflower seeds in there."  
  
"Don't you guys have some breaking and entering to do?"  
  
Mulder reminded them of their mission to infiltrate the  
  
Mayor's office.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Langly unwillingly got off of the sofa.  
  
"Nice place you got here, Mr. Honorable Deputy Mayor, sir."  
  
"Thanks. Now," Mulder said, ushering the Lone Gunmen out,  
  
"if you're really REALLY good, I'll show you the wet bar  
  
they put in here for me."  
  
"You've got a BAR in here!" Langly goggled while Frohike  
  
and Byers stared in wonder.  
  
Mulder slammed the door in their faces.  
  
"God damn," Frohike said. "What bug crawled up his ass and  
  
died?"  
  
Mulder flung himself onto the sofa and threw his arm over  
  
his eyes. Truth to be told, he, again, wasn't feeling well.  
  
He could feel the army of the migranes mustering at the  
  
tail of his spine and begin their march up to his skull.  
  
"Goddamn it!!" He cursed aloud. "Not now, not now!!!" He  
  
was about to get up and fix himself a very substantial  
  
adult beverage from his very own private bar when his cell  
  
phone rang. "Mulder."  
  
"Mr. Mulder? This is the Yellow Cab Company. We're right  
  
outside."  
  
"Thank you," Mulder switched his phone off, pulled on his  
  
suit jacket and grabbed his briefcase and went downstairs  
  
to his waiting cab and home to a hopefully waiting good  
  
Doctor Scully, who is the cure for all that ailed him... he  
  
hoped.  
  
Washington D.C.; Lincoln Street Warehouse  
  
4:57 PM  
  
*******************************************  
  
Ben crouched waiting behind one of the crates as the men  
  
left. He couldn't figure it all out. Was the vile some sort  
  
of chemical toxin? Surely it wasn't related to his  
  
trial...the Admiral CERTAINLY couldn't be in on what was  
  
happening in the oil company. He knew that the Admiral had  
  
pulled some strings to get him the new job at the law firm,  
  
but beyond that, he didn't think that the Admiral was at  
  
all involved with his job--he certainly wasn't going to let  
  
his father-in-law interfere with justice. These guys were  
  
going to pay for what they did, and he was going to be the  
  
one to pull the wool off over their eyes. He knew that  
  
whatever the vile was, it was something that he would have  
  
to look in on after he blew this case out of the water.  
  
But, first things first, before he saved the world, he  
  
needed to save his marriage. He took out a well-worn  
  
velvet-covered box, and procured an antique locket, held  
  
the picture up to it, and with scissors that came with his  
  
swiss army knife, cut the picture to fit, and snapped it  
  
shut and put the box in the paper bag holding the picture,  
  
and left.  
  
Sam and Scully crouched behind the rows of boxes close to  
  
the door, and silently scooted out of view as Ben left.  
  
Scully had parked behind a building across the street, and  
  
Al, Scully and Sam gratefully left.  
  
"I wonder what that was all about?" Sam mused allowed as he  
  
got into the truck. Al popped in between he and Scully,  
  
trying his best to look like he was actually sitting,  
  
causing Sam to nearly jump out of his skin and make the car  
  
swerve.  
  
"It sure wasn't a Shriner's club meeting." Al grumbled.  
  
"I dunno..." Then Scully's eyes widened as she got a  
  
horrible thought. "Oh God! What if they were talking about  
  
Mulder?"  
  
"They were definately talking about Ben, that's for sure."  
  
Al interjected as though Scully could hear him.  
  
"I wonder what that vile was. Could you tell?"  
  
"How the hell should I know?" Scully snapped.  
  
"It looked like green kool-aid to me." Al said at the same  
  
time Scully snapped. "I wonder how Ben found out they would  
  
be there."  
  
"Who knows." Sam said, forgetting that Scully couldn't hear  
  
Al's half.  
  
"You ok Doggett?"  
  
"Who knows." Sam said dryly, and then realizing his fumble,  
  
stammered, "Who knows...how Ben found out those guys would  
  
be there."  
  
"You think Jerilyn tipped him off without her knowing it?"  
  
Al wondered.  
  
"It was World War Three in their apartment for the past  
  
couple of days, Jerilyn wouldn't let him near any of what  
  
she was working on, I'm sure of it."  
  
"How do you think he got a hold of that information, then?"  
  
Scully demanded.  
  
"Maybe they were feeding the little worm some bait." Al  
  
theorized.  
  
"You really think so?" Sam asked, again forgetting about  
  
Scully.  
  
"I have no idea." Scully answered, and then whipped out her  
  
cell phone. "Skinner? It's Scully, hey, listen..."yeah,  
  
we're alright. Did you and Starkweather make out ok?...We  
  
followed Ben to the warehouse on Lincoln Street, and Kersh,  
  
The Admiral, The Mayor of D.C., and somebody we didn't  
  
recognize all pulled into the warehouse and got this  
  
vile...we have no idea...we don't know the answer to that  
  
one, either...we've still got a lot of work to do before we  
  
know that...yes sir...I'll keep you posted." Scully hung up  
  
and sighed heavily. "Doggett...we've been working on this  
  
ever since it exploded ont our laps, and where has it  
  
gotten us? Absolutely nowhere...I don't think I'm helping  
  
you or Mulder any more than Will is."  
  
"Sure you are," Sam tried to encourage. "We just need a  
  
little more time to gather proof, is all. I tell you what,  
  
I'll take you back to the Bureau, and we can call it a  
  
night, and you me and Starkweather can pull our heads  
  
together over this tomorrow at work."  
  
"Thanks, Doggett...that's the best idea anyone's come up  
  
with for the past few days."  
  
"You know Scully," Sam began, "You know how I read through  
  
all those files..."  
  
"Yeah?" Scully nodded.  
  
"There's one thing I gotta know."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"When you were in Antarctica, how DID you guys get back  
  
from that spaceship?"  
  
"Just drive." She said flatly. Sam and Scully rode in  
  
silence the rest of the way, and Al went back through the  
  
chamber door to check on the progress being made on Ziggy.  
  
An hour later that afternoon  
  
****************************  
  
Ben made his way back to his plush office, no closer to a  
  
garaunteed win for his case than he was earlier. There was  
  
nothing conclusive in that meeting except that someone  
  
wanted someone else fired, or worse. Those people had  
  
access to a box in that warehouse with a vile. If there was  
  
someway he could get a hold of that vile, then maybe he  
  
could win that case. The only easiest way he could get the  
  
vile, it seemed, was through his father-in-law.  
  
But what was it? What could possibly be in that vile that  
  
four undoubtedly powerful men wanted? It certainly coudln't  
  
be liquidated green jell-o. Maybe toxin? Some heightened  
  
synthetic chlorophyll for crops? Regardless, it was a crime  
  
against the government, and it had to be uncovered,  
  
regardless of who was involved. This might be a bit tricky  
  
considering one of the possible people he would be fighting  
  
against pulled strings to get his new position at one of  
  
the top lawfirms. The Admiral had opened some doors, and he  
  
couldn't just turn him away like that...but by the same  
  
token, he couldn't turn down a fight, either.  
  
"Mr. Starkweather," his secretary chirpped, poking her head  
  
in the door. "This came for you while you were gone. I  
  
don't know who brought it. The mailboy brought it up."  
  
"Thanks." Ben said absently, taking the envelope as though  
  
it were something his parents wouldn't let him touch. He  
  
took the envelope, and noticed that it was a plain,  
  
grocery-store .99 special variety that was unmarked; only  
  
his name and lawfirm address were written on the front.  
  
Inside was a typed message written in Times New Roman font,  
  
size twelve, all caps  
  
IF YOU WANT TO WIN THE CASE, COME TO THE LINCOLN STREET  
  
LAWFIRM AT 4:30 AM, ALONE AND ARMED WITH NOTHING BUT YOUR  
  
WITS--A FRIEND INSIDE.  
  
He crumpled the peice of paper up, and threw it in the  
  
wastebasket, started to surf the net on insectisides to see  
  
if it would lead to any answers as to what that vile was,  
  
and soon, his curiosity got the better of him.  
  
Everything was riding on this deposition coming up; but his  
  
marriage was riding on tonight. If he screwed up again, it  
  
would be world war four. On the other hand, he  
  
rationalized, if I win this case, the x-files would be  
  
closed, and Agent Jerilyn would be Mrs. Starkweather again.  
  
"Well, if world war four explodes in our apartment tonight,  
  
I hope she doesn't know how to operate an atom bomb."  
  
Ben closed the laptop, and left the office, heading for the  
  
flowershop. If he wanted everything to be right again  
  
tonight, he would have to eat crow for supper. For a year.  
  
Or as long as Jerilyn was willing to put up a fight for  
  
their marriage. Whichever came first.  
  
He hoped the year.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
meanwhile...  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
  
************************  
  
Sam and Scully left from the Lincoln Street Warehouse  
  
almost as clueless as they had came in. The only thing Sam  
  
knew for sure was that he hadn't changed history yet. At  
  
least he had the future suspects narrowed down. If he could  
  
somehow get him away from them; to get Jerilyn to protect  
  
him somehow, he would be home free. Experience told him it  
  
wouldn't be that easy.  
  
They came into the x-files office to find Jerilyn busily  
  
digging in research. "You guys find anything?"  
  
"I found out how to unbuckle my seatbelt and change seats  
  
during the time it takes for a light to change." She shot a  
  
glare at Sam. "If you do ANYTHING like that to me again  
  
I'll--" Scully started, but Sam wouldn't let her finish.  
  
"I gotta go to the restroom." For once in his life, it  
  
wasn't just an excuse.  
  
"I don't think he's playing with a full deck today,  
  
Starkweather."  
  
Scully said, getting her laptop and briefcase gathered.  
  
"Well, you'd be a basketcase too," She justified, and  
  
gestured to Mulder's desk. "If you hadda spend the night  
  
with the Addams Family reject, Barbie boy, JFK Wannabe, and  
  
Greasey poney tail quasi-modo. Look, Scully...earlier, I  
  
put you between me and the Deputy Mayor, and that wasn't  
  
fair of me."  
  
"I'll take that as an apology, Starkweather. Hope you and  
  
Ben patch things up tonight."  
  
"We will...you were right about Mulder. His heart is in the  
  
right place, after all. Along with a couple  
  
of...other...pertinent muscles." Scully couldn't help but  
  
blush like a school girl at that comment.  
  
"We found out something you might wanna know,  
  
Starkweather." Sam said, making his entrance and shot a  
  
permissive look directed at Scully. "Someone close the FBI  
  
has a lot of influence on a lot of people."  
  
"Any idea who?" She asked.  
  
"We're getting close, Starkweather."  
  
"What did you find?" Scully pressed, eager to change the  
  
subject.  
  
"Chicken scratch on a legal pad. It looked like doodling at  
  
first, but I looked closer, and it was stock-market  
  
numbers. I did some research, and the stock-market is  
  
linked directly to that oil rig in the Gulf, and this same  
  
company merged with several other oil rigs--including one  
  
in Arizona and in Scottland."  
  
"We know someone's paying Kersh to keep silent. All we need  
  
to do now is figure out who, or which organization, or  
  
what." Scully said, making a bee-line for the door. "I've  
  
gotta go relieve Agent Reyes of Will.  
  
"At least today we got a good start on a lead. It's not  
  
solid, but it's a lead."  
  
Starkweather looked nervously down at her desk, and then  
  
across at the both of them, as if in debate. She sighed  
  
heavily in concluding solo arguements. "I'm going to do  
  
some investigating when dad comes to visit. It's the only  
  
way we can find any answers to this thing."  
  
"I appreciate your help, Starkweather, but the answers may  
  
not be what you want to hear." Scully warned.  
  
"Neither are the Backstreet Boys." Starkweather replied  
  
with a scared smile. "But if that's what it takes to get  
  
you two outta this, then I'll do it. See you guys  
  
tomorrow." She said heading out the door.  
  
Later that night...  
  
Ben and Jerilyn's apartment  
  
Ben tenitively opened the door to his apartment. He heard Kid  
  
Rock blaring out of the stereo: "Yeah, I'm a COW - Boy  
  
bay--bee..." He closed his eyes. Hard rock, bad sign. He  
  
sighed and went towards the bedroom.  
  
His wife hadn't noticed him. The bedroom was in disarray,  
  
piles of clothes separated by color and fabric all over.  
  
Because they didn't have an ironing board, Jerilyn had  
  
spread a towel on their dresser and was pressing a pair  
  
of Ben's khakis. Ben grinned to himself. One of the perks  
  
of having an ex-military person for a spouse was their  
  
anal-retentive attention to details. Jerilyn had a lot of  
  
practice in creating shipshape creases, having done ironing  
  
not just for her uniforms, but for her father when he was  
  
still active in the Navy.  
  
Ben leaned against the doorframe. "Hi."  
  
He received a withering look and a curt "Hi," in return.  
  
"Have you drawn up divorce papers yet?" he said jokingly.  
  
"Don't tempt me Counselor," she replied, but the name  
  
"Counselor" was a good sign, it was her pet name for  
  
him. Jerilyn had pet names for just about everyone, friends  
  
and enemies. "Monkey boy" for Byers and "Papa John" for Doggett  
  
were just two examples of her nick name fanaticism. She was  
  
still struggling for an appropriate nick name for Mulder but  
  
asshole was still in the running.  
  
"Jeri," he sighed, but stuck to his resolution to eat crow.  
  
"Baby, can we... can we... could we start over?"  
  
"Ben, we've started over so many times...."  
  
"Well, three-thousand and one's the charm," he smiled  
  
and approached her, taking the hot iron out of her hands  
  
and took her in his arms. "Jeri, we don't have to agree,  
  
okay, I know you think I'm insane for what I'm doing...  
  
but on the flip side, I think you're insane for what  
  
you're doing too..."  
  
"Is this your sad attempt at an apology?" but she was  
  
smiling when she said that.  
  
Caesar the cat wound himself around their legs...  
  
****************************************************************  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Scully's apartment  
  
Georgetown  
  
"Thanks Reyes for all your help," Scully said,  
  
holding Will as she walked Monica Reyes to the door.  
  
Reyes, still recovering from her unfortunate mishap from  
  
falling from a ladder, limped to the door. "Hopefully I'll  
  
be back in business in a month," she said with her  
  
trademark serene smile. "I didn't realize butts took so  
  
long to heal." She had broken her tailbone in the fall,  
  
putting her out of action for the most post.  
  
"Well, can't wait to have you back, have a good night,"  
  
Scully wished her well as she shut the door quietly.  
  
After she put William to bed, she had just settled down in  
  
her chair when she heard Mulder's key in her door. He  
  
staggered in and collapsed on her couch, rubbing his  
  
temples.  
  
"Mulder, what's the matter?"  
  
"Bad headache, got any Valium?"  
  
"How would Valium cure a headache?" Scully huffed,  
  
irritated as usual at how poorly Mulder always took care of  
  
himself.  
  
"It would make me completely numb to the world," he closed  
  
his eyes as Scully came over. She sat down beside him and  
  
touched his forehead. "No fever, which is a good sign, but  
  
Mulder, you can't let yourself get run down, not now."  
  
"I know, I know..." Mulder tried to wave her concern off,  
  
but Dr. Scully wouldn't allow it.  
  
"No you don't Mulder," she began sternly.  
  
"Scully," he opened his eyes and started to give her the  
  
puppy-dog eyes. "I'm just tired. It's just a headache. I've  
  
just had a bad day..."  
  
Scully took his hand. "Tell me."  
  
Mulder sighed. "Someone is trying to get me fired at City  
  
Hall...."  
  
"... and to top it all off," Mulder rubbed his eyes again  
  
wearily. "My car got stolen."  
  
"Oh God, Mulder, did you call-"  
  
"The police," Mulder finished her question for her, "yes I  
  
did. I told them the make and the model and the plate  
  
numbers. I told them the color and what the bumper sticker  
  
said. I told them where I usually park it, underneath the  
  
big sign that says "Parking for the Deputy Mayor Only, All  
  
Others Will Be Towed." I told them the last approximate  
  
time I saw my car. They thanked me for all the information  
  
I provided and told me that they'd get right on it...  
  
before they started to laugh hysterically, of course."  
  
Mulder looked up at her and deadpanned. "And how was your  
  
day, Pookie?"  
  
"Pookie?" she asked flatly.  
  
Just then, the baby started to cry in the other room.  
  
Mulder's face crumpled in pain as the wails became  
  
piercing. Scully, more concerned for William than Mulder,  
  
naturally, bolted up, but Mulder grabbed her wrist. "I'll  
  
go, haven't seen the slugger all day, except for this  
  
morning," and with a sigh, he heaved himself off the couch  
  
and down towards Scully's bedroom.  
  
Which was a good thing because just then, Maggie Scully had  
  
decided to give her daughter a phone call and was in the  
  
mood for a nice long cozy chat. An entire hour had passed  
  
before Scully could finally draw the phone call to an end.  
  
"Alright, I'll talk to you soon, I love you Mom... ok  
  
Mom... Yes Mom... okay, I'll talk to you soon.... I love  
  
you too... yes Mom, I'll tell him... okay... yeah Mom... I  
  
love you...I'll talk to you soon... okay, Mom... love  
  
you... BYE!" She hung up the phone with a bemused smile.  
  
Every since Scully had the baby, Maggie had rung up her  
  
long distance bill, calling with maternal hints and  
  
suggestions.  
  
Scully then noticed how quiet it was. She padded down her  
  
hallway, feeling some of that leftover fear that she felt  
  
when Krycek, may God rot his lying soul, told her that her  
  
baby was "special" and that "they" were coming for it.  
  
The door was partially closed. Only a sliver of light from  
  
the baby's teddy bear shaped night light shone out. Scully  
  
felt her heart pounding. Slowly, FBI slowly, she pushed  
  
open the door. "Mul-" she started to say, but stopped.  
  
Back to her, Mulder was holding William, standing in front  
  
of the window. Sillouetted by the street lights, Mulder was  
  
making a valiant effort to sing... effort being the key  
  
word. "Hey diddle diddle put your kitty in the middle and  
  
swing like you didn't care," he crooned, softly, gently and  
  
completely out of tune, "so I took a big chance at the high  
  
school dance with a missy who was ready to play and...  
  
um.... la la la la... la... um... don't know the words to  
  
this part but...I knew that love was here to stay when she  
  
told me to walk this way, talk this way, walk this way,  
  
talk this way," he happened to turn around to see Scully  
  
standing there. He grinned and sang "Just give me a little  
  
kiss..."  
  
Scully went to him and looked up at him with her baby.  
  
"You're singing Aerosmith to MY child?" she crossed her  
  
arms.  
  
"Sure, they're a classic," Mulder said, at his most  
  
maddening, shifting Will to one arm so he could use his  
  
other arm to pull Scully to him. "I started to listen to  
  
them when I was a kid, so I figured," Mulder shrugged. "Why  
  
not?"  
  
"Mulder," she said, wriggling enough to put her arms on top  
  
of his to draw him and her baby closer. "That boy is going  
  
to need years of therapy if you don't..."  
  
"Don't what?" Mulder kissed her forehead, then kissed the  
  
top of the baby's head.  
  
"I thought you had a headache?"  
  
"It's going away," Mulder said, resting his head on top of  
  
Scully's. "I could stay this way forever, Scully, do you  
  
know that?" as he enveloped her and her son in his strong  
  
arms. He gently started to sway, as if they were slow-  
  
dancing at a junior high dance.  
  
Scully felt her eyes welling up. As she looked up to tell  
  
him how touched she was by his sentiments, he began to sing  
  
again. "Swwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet  
  
emoooooooooooooooooooooootion.....  
  
Swwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet  
  
emoooooooooooooooooooooootion..... talk about things that  
  
nobody cares.... wearing our things that nobody wears,  
  
somebody's calling me but I gotta make clear, can't say  
  
maybe where I'll be in a year..."  
  
Scully groaned, but then smiled. He wouldn't be Mulder if  
  
he couldn't take a perfectly wonderful, sweet moment... and  
  
ruin it completely.  
  
After Mulder had called the police, the Gunmen made their  
  
way down the hall and to the Mayor's office, which,  
  
unfortunately was locked.  
  
Frohike turned to Langly.  
  
"Got a bobby pin?"  
  
"What the hell makes you think I've got a bobby pin?"  
  
"Oh yeah, I forgot, you don't even brush your hair. Byers,  
  
gimme your credit card. I gotta crack this lock somehow."  
  
"Frohickey, I refuse to give you my credit card."  
  
"Aw, come on, Virgin Monkey Boy. I promise I won't get the  
  
number off of it to buy pornos on the internet this time."  
  
"That's what you said last time."  
  
"Byers...you need serious help, man." Langly nasalled.  
  
"Look, I'll pay you back." Frohike persisted.  
  
"That's what you said last time."  
  
"I'll let you borrow them."  
  
"That's what you said last time."  
  
"Dammit, Byers, where's your sense of adventure!"  
  
"It went out the window the moment you called me Virgin  
  
Monkey Boy. I am NOT having a good day."  
  
"Byers, dude, this is a cakewalk. We'll be in and outta  
  
here in a jiffy."  
  
"Why is it on cakewalks we always tend to slip on the  
  
icing?"  
  
"Wow, it's good to know our tax money is being well-spent  
  
on swanky offices." Frohike grumbled as he opened the newly  
  
jimmied door.  
  
"Geeez...this office is nicer than *Scully's* apartment."  
  
Langly said, oogling at the bar.  
  
"Langly, get your ass over hear, we're gonna start on his  
  
email."  
  
"Awww, man!"  
  
"If you're good, we'll letchya have some of the mayor's  
  
candy."  
  
"Oh goodie." Langly said dryly. "Let's see what we got  
  
here." He turned on the computer; Frohike kept lookout at  
  
the window just in case, and shut the blinds. Byers kept  
  
his look-out post near the door. "Hmmm...nothing much  
  
here...internet porn...birthday cards to his  
  
granddaughter...Hello! Score one for Barbie Boy!" Langley  
  
said triumphantly.  
  
"Whatchya got?"  
  
"Looks like someone's jumping down the mayor's throat."  
  
Langly answered, busily keying in data, "He's got a couple  
  
of threatening emails. The addy is leolaw@juno.net. If we  
  
can figure out who that is, we might be able to get a lock  
  
on who's trying to get Mulder fired."  
  
"Do your stuff, Langly."  
  
"It's what I live for Frohickey. Here we go...but this  
  
guy's good...I don't' have an I.D. on him. I can't trace  
  
it."  
  
"Guys?" Frohike said, not really paying attention to what  
  
Langley was saying. He was nervously peering out the  
  
window.  
  
"What, Fro?"  
  
"The mayor's coming up the walk. I think we better move."  
  
"Shit! What's he doing back here?!"  
  
"Maybe he's come back to look at some of this internet  
  
porn." Langley suggested.  
  
"Shut up Langly." The two chorused in unison. They shut  
  
the computer off, and gingerly relocked the door.  
  
"We're cooked." Frohike said in his trademark grumble.  
  
"Guys, we're cleaning dudes..."  
  
"What do you suggest, Langley," Byers said, heading for the  
  
doors, "Sweeping the Mayor out? Maybe knocking the mayor  
  
unconscious with window-cleaner fumes?"  
  
"Not a bad idea." Frohike approved.  
  
"I suggest we clean." Langley continued, turning off the  
  
computer. "Who knows, we may find somethin' out. I mean,  
  
hell...a man running with the bad guys gotta have something  
  
to hide."  
  
"As much as I hate to admit it, Blondie's got a point,  
  
Virgin Monkey Boy." Frohike deadpanned.  
  
"Don't call me that!" Byers and Langley both shouted in  
  
unison.  
  
Byers, Langly, and Frohike all scampered across the hall,  
  
like three little kids who were trying not to get caught by  
  
parents.  
  
"Shit! I forgot to lock the door!" Langley panicked.  
  
"Oh hell." Was all Frohike said.  
  
"If he goes near the computer, we're dead." Byers said in  
  
his trademark matter-of-factness. "It's still warm."  
  
Langley, trying too hard to look like he was supposed to be  
  
there, sang barely recognizable as melody under his breath  
  
"Just slip out the back, Jack, make a new plan, Stan, no  
  
need to be coy Roy, just drop the key, Lee, and get  
  
yourself free."  
  
"Shut up!" Byers and Frohike hissed in unison, because just  
  
then, the mayor was coming up the walk. Langley just barely  
  
locked the door in time, and had scooted around the corner  
  
out of sight seconds after the Mayor came in the door to  
  
City Hall, fortunately for the three cleaning guys, leaving  
  
the door open.  
  
"Look at that." Byers whispered, trying not to look like  
  
Langley was someone he knew.  
  
"Wonder what he's got there?" Frohike mumbled under his  
  
breath, as he watched the Mayor put the vile in a small  
  
pocket-sized metal box and locked it. They all watched as  
  
he picked up the phone.  
  
"I got it here, and I am keeping it with me. I will not be  
  
threatened anymore. Leo, you keep threatening me this  
  
morning, and you got the vile for them. You should be more  
  
careful where you put things, next time. We started this  
  
because we thought it was the only way. Because it was  
  
either us or him or us or them. They haven't found proof of  
  
anything yet, and I don't think that they will. I don't see  
  
any reason for illuminating him, or anyone for that matter;  
  
if you do, you can threaten me all you want, you can  
  
blackmail me all you want, but it will only keep you from  
  
preserving what we originally started fighting for. If they  
  
follow through with the plans tonight, this is where we  
  
part company."  
  
They waited till the Mayor turned out the lights and locked  
  
the door with the metal box containing the vile in his  
  
hand, and then made their way down the hall.  
  
"Maybe Leo's a codename." Frohike suggested.  
  
"I thought Frohike was a codename at first." Langly said,  
  
starting the van.  
  
"Shut up and drive, Blondie." Frohike grumbled.  
  
"Whatever, Frohickey." Langley said, and put Queen in the  
  
tape player.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile  
  
Ben and Jeri's apartment  
  
Washington DC  
  
Ben cupped his wife's face in his hand and smiled into the  
  
dark pools of her eyes... strange hazel eyes, switching  
  
colors with her mood from green to gold to brown to all  
  
three colors swirled together and back again. Never the  
  
same color twice. "Jeri, even though I think you're wrong,  
  
I don't have the right to hurt your feelings." He watched  
  
her pretty eyes look away, then look down. "Hey," he said,  
  
using his other hand to stroke her cheek. "I know you hate  
  
sap and mush, but I mean it. I'm sorry Jeri. Maybe we'll be  
  
on the other side of the fence for right now, but I still  
  
need you. I don't have to be such a d*ck because you don't  
  
agree with me. We'll go our separate ways on this, but  
  
since we are fighting for the same thing, we'll meet in the  
  
middle eventually. We always do. Plus I'll work hard if you  
  
promise to do the same to keep our professional lives  
  
professional and not let it mess with our personal lives."  
  
Jerilyn, still afraid for his safety, could not argue with  
  
his logic. He had a job to do. So did she. "Okay."  
  
He took a deep breath. "And... about Doggett..."  
  
Quicksilver, she back up from him, her face puckering up  
  
into the most disagreeable expression of anger he had seen  
  
in a while. "Oh, here we go..." she snapped.  
  
"No, we don't," Ben took her hands. "I meant to say is...  
  
I'm..." really wanting to believe you don't have feelings  
  
for him he silently begged her while he said "I'm just  
  
jealous that he gets to see you more than I do, that's  
  
all."  
  
Jerilyn sighed. "But Ben, that's how it was with my last  
  
partner too and you were never jealous of him."  
  
"Honey, that's because he hated you. I had no worries about  
  
him moving in on my territory," Ben teased, stepping  
  
closer.  
  
"Oh Gawd." Jeri began to let down her guard. "Thanks a lot.  
  
Should I go up to my boss tomorrow and say 'Assistant  
  
Director, my husband is bitter that me and my partner get  
  
along so could you rustle up a real low life, double-  
  
crossing bad-smelling male chauvinist pig partner like I  
  
had in Minneapolis and assign him to me instead. Thanks,  
  
Ben will appreciate it.'" Now she teased, stepping closer  
  
to him, fingers playing with the buttons of his perfectly  
  
starched white dress shirt.  
  
"There you go," Ben began to pick hairpins out of Jeri's  
  
severe bun. "You're catching on to the whole subservient  
  
wife thing pretty quickl- oof!!" His "subservient wife" had  
  
just sucker punched him in the solar plexus. "Not fair."  
  
"No, 'not fair' would be below the belt," Jerilyn said with  
  
a naughty smile as she fussed with his belt buckle. "And  
  
don't get your boxers in a truss about Doggett, ok? He's a  
  
good guy."  
  
"Okay," Ben said, "but forgive me if I act like a preening  
  
male ass sometimes. Especially when it comes to Doggett."  
  
He resumed picking hairpins out of her thick luxurious  
  
hair. When it tumbled down, he ran his fingers through,  
  
marveling how silky it felt in between his paper-cut  
  
fingers. "'Cause, like it or not, big bad FBI broad, he  
  
does get to see you more than I do," he admitted quietly.  
  
Now Jerilyn was focusing on undoing his tie. Slowly she  
  
unknotted it and slid it off of him. "He doesn't get to see  
  
EVERYTHING, husband dear," she stood on tiptoes and nibbled  
  
provocatively on his neck.  
  
With a groan, he ripped the covers of the unmade bed off  
  
and crossed over to shut the blinds. He then scooped  
  
Jerilyn up and tossed her on the bed. Laughing, Jerilyn sat  
  
up on her elbows. "Is this your idea of for*play, Mr.  
  
Starkweather," she giggled as she threw her long thick hair  
  
over her shoulder over-dramatically.  
  
Ben slid on top of her and kissed her into submission. "No,  
  
Mrs. Starkweather," he said throatily as he began to work  
  
on the buttons of her blouse, "this is..."  
  
He figured he could give her the locket later... much much  
  
later... and with that decision made, he went to work on  
  
the very serious job of re-consummating their marriage.  
  
meanwhile, Doggett Residence  
  
*******************************  
  
Sam's mind was reeling. He was at the point in exhaustion  
  
where reality became surreal, but he couldn't sleep. If he  
  
couldn't figure out a way to stop Ben's death, in,  
  
according to Al, less than twelve hours, he was powerless  
  
to stop every grim prediction Ziggy made. He held on to the  
  
faint hope that all the disaster was part of the virus that  
  
entered her system, but something told him that wasn't the  
  
case.  
  
So far, a night digging around on-line and a day chasing  
  
after Mr. Starkweather had left him empty-handed.  
  
"You're taking the expression 'the weight of the world on  
  
your shoulders' a bit too seriously, kid. You did what you  
  
could today." Al said out of nowhere.  
  
"Al, don't sneak up on me like that!"  
  
"Sorry, Sam. I'll wear a little bell on my neck next time."  
  
Sam only glowered at him. "You can't hit me, I'm a  
  
hologram! Unless you want to swing at thin air."  
  
"How's Ziggy?" Sam chastised himself for taking his anger  
  
out on Al.  
  
"We're working on her. Goushie's close to getting the virus  
  
purged from her system. For now, shut-down looks  
  
probable...but so far, it looks like we won't have to shut  
  
her down till the wee small hours. What could happen at  
  
2am?"  
  
"Ben could be murdered, the world could end..."  
  
"...and the sky could fall. Sam, you have got to get a hold  
  
of yourself. It won't do anyone any good for you to panic.  
  
We've got it under control the best we can. We're running  
  
our back-ups to see what that vile was all about, but we  
  
got nothing so far."  
  
"Well, do what you can."  
  
"Don't I always? I'm trying to find out what I can from  
  
Doggett."  
  
"That's great! How did you manage that?"  
  
"You're not gonna like this, Sam."  
  
"Al...*please* tell me you didn't break the rules..."  
  
"I *had* to, Sam. I showed him the police reports, and it  
  
was the only way I could get him to 'fess up and believe  
  
me. God...I didn't see the reports myself until just before  
  
I hadda show them to Doggett. No *human* could have done  
  
that to Mulder."  
  
"Who is the suspect?"  
  
"They have a picture of a man named William Miles. But no  
  
HUMAN has that kinda brute strength to tear apart metal  
  
bars the way that police photo shows, Sam. They were torn  
  
apart like damn paper. Mulder's body was pretty much torn  
  
in *half*."  
  
"Al, they have solid evidence that shows a *man* committed  
  
his murder. Sometimes adrenaline gives you heightened  
  
strength. You and I know that better than anybody."  
  
"Doggett says this guy's an E.T. By the looks of what he  
  
did in that jail cell...going to do...he's on a helluva lot  
  
of steroids."  
  
"He's a man...just like you and me."  
  
"I don't think I have the ability to break a guy in half,  
  
Sam. Neither do you and you damn well know it."  
  
"I still can't believe he's alien, but I have a hunch that  
  
the vile is related to Ben's death, and if Ben's death is  
  
related to Mulder's and everyone else's, then if we can  
  
figure out what's in that vile, we've got a lead."  
  
"Even so, Sam, we have no way of knowing where that vile  
  
is. The best way to stop the world from going kablooey is  
  
stopping Ben's murder."  
  
"The guy hates me. He thinks I'm after his wife. I don't  
  
think he's wanna spend quality time with me a few days  
  
before his biggest case. Besides, if Jerilyn takes the  
  
peace offering he got him today, I don't think I'll need to  
  
keep him out of harm's way. But if that worked...why am I  
  
still here?"  
  
Al whipped out the blinking console "Could be just Ziggy's  
  
virus acting up. Uh-oh...no...Sam...sorry kid...he's still  
  
killed tonight."  
  
Church Falls  
  
Residence of Justin Leo  
  
************************  
  
In his 33 years, Justin Leo had never in his life had such  
  
a long week. In dire need of a stiff drink, he went over to  
  
his personal bar and poured himself a tall double-strength  
  
martini. Yes, he desperately needed to be numb.  
  
His life had always been lived quite placidly, always  
  
keeping at the tip of consciousness what had happened that  
  
summer night years ago to Lilly Stanford...Lilly Stanford  
  
Leo he always added. He would never forgive himself for  
  
letting her be taken.  
  
Until two months ago when he was approached by an Admiral  
  
from Arizona to protect certain interests. The Deputy  
  
Director was always vague as to what these interests were,  
  
but he was fairly certain early in their association that  
  
these interests involved some sort of cover-up. As the  
  
weeks increased, the money increased, and the errands  
  
increased. He became the group's Fall Guy of sorts,  
  
tampering with papers, tapering with bank account records,  
  
delivering messages that were all done under the command of  
  
a man who smoked Morley cigarettes. Justin Leo never knew  
  
his name, but somehow knew that his associates' latest  
  
target, the Deputy Mayor, porbably knew more about him than  
  
he should have. The greater part of this morning was spent  
  
telling the Mayor why his new man shouldn't be allowed to  
  
live. The Mayor couldn't agree with his arguments.  
  
The most bizarre thing he did for these four gentlemen was  
  
his most recent task. He drove with all but the man who  
  
smoked Morleys and took out a tube of green vile in a  
  
warehouse on a shady side of town. He had no idea what the  
  
vile was, or what it was for. He was only aware that it was  
  
needed, and that he was the one who was going to retrieve  
  
it for him. If it meant finding Lilly Stanford then it was  
  
all worth it. It was worth everything.  
  
It had never gone this far before. Leo--law-abiding, law-  
  
practicing, forthright Justin Leo--had never thought he was  
  
someone capable of murder. The very idea of killing someone  
  
in cold blood sickened him. He couldn't be involved  
  
anymore, but if ending a life led him to Lilly, then he  
  
would do it. The target would sacrifice his life for hers.  
  
Yes, Lily was worth another life. He had been too  
  
spineless to do anything about her abduction as he watched  
  
her go up into the blue light. Now, he would show her that  
  
he was capable of taking good care of her.  
  
He loaded a clipper with a round of shells, and in the  
  
dark, eerie light of the TV set, let his mind play back the  
  
spark that begun when he first saw Lilly's hazel eyes.  
  
Ben and Jeri's apartment  
  
Straight up midnight  
  
Spooning his wife's body, Ben absently stroked Jerilyn's  
  
sleeping form, his hand gently caressing the hollows of her  
  
flat tummy. Even though he loved Jerilyn's incredible  
  
intellect, her steadfast loyalty and her passionate heart,  
  
his male ego couldn't help but crow that his wife was  
  
strutting around in a world-class body. Hard in the right  
  
places, soft in the right places.  
  
Not that Ben was a slouch in the physique department  
  
either. Although he didn't work out as vigorously as he had  
  
while he was still in the Air National Guard, where he met  
  
Jerilyn, he still hit the gym three times a week and every  
  
summer was signed up for some sporting league. Still, he  
  
managed to cut a dashing figure in his suits and he was  
  
proud that he still had fairly hard calf muscles, a toned  
  
chest and a nice flat belly.  
  
Speaking of bellies, Ben became acutely aware of the  
  
gnawing emptiness of his. He had been in such a rush home  
  
to mend fences with Jerilyn that he hadn't stopped anywhere  
  
for a bite to eat and well, once things started to rock and  
  
roll with Jerilyn, he really hadn't thought about food  
  
until now.  
  
Rolling away from Jerilyn, he reached down for his boxers.  
  
By the light shining from the hallway, he saw that the cat  
  
had them, chewing on the waistband in the doorway.  
  
"You damn cat," he muttered as he rolled off the bed and  
  
walked towards the cat. Caesar, thinking that his master  
  
wanted to play, bounced away, shorts in mouth.  
  
"Fucking cat!" Ben hissed under his breath and followed  
  
him.  
  
Jerilyn, who he thought was sleeping, smiled.  
  
Bare-assed nekkid, Ben chased the cat around his living  
  
room for a good fifteen minutes before he was able to  
  
retrieve his shorts, and only after a good fight at that.  
  
When Ben finally slipped on his hard-won boxers, he could  
  
have sworn the cat was scowling at him. "Hey, don't get  
  
pissed off at me, it was HER idea to get you neutered, not  
  
mine."  
  
Caesar skulked off to hide under the couch.  
  
Now clothed, Ben went into the kitchen. He opened the  
  
refrigerator to find a carton of expired milk, half a case  
  
of Bud Light and a couple of boxes of Chinese take-out.  
  
"Okay, mental memo to self, must buy groceries sometime in  
  
the immediate future," he said to himself. He then went to  
  
the freezer. A little better luck there, there was two  
  
Totino pepperoni pizza and a full container of Ben and  
  
Jerry's Phishfood. Ben shook his head as he remembered the  
  
razzing that he received when it first got out that he was  
  
dating her. "Ben and Jeri huh? Are you gonna name your kids  
  
Chunky Monkey and Cherry Garcia?"  
  
Too unambitious to fire up the oven for pizza, he grabbed  
  
the ice cream and a spoon and wandered out to the living  
  
room. Another trait in Jerilyn that he found attractive was  
  
that they were both night owls, though how she managed to  
  
drag her ass out of bed at five-fifteen almost every  
  
morning for a run was beyond him.  
  
He sat down on the couch, found his cigarettes and lighter,  
  
lit up and thumbed through the mail. Bills, bills, more  
  
bills and today's newspaper. On the front page, bottom  
  
corner left was a dorky picture of the Mayor and his Deputy  
  
Mayor at some ribbon cutting. Ben shook his head and tossed  
  
the paper down on the coffee table.  
  
Perhaps triggered by the "Ben and Jerry" memory, Ben  
  
reached for the photo album on the coffee table. He was an  
  
amateur photographer. For Christmas two years ago, Jeri had  
  
bought him a nice used old school Minolta manual camera,  
  
which he loved. Finishing his smoke, he began to eat the  
  
ice-cream and flipped through the album, which started with  
  
beer parties pictures from law school, then some bar  
  
pictures with his old friends at the Des Moines Air  
  
National Guard unit. Then A LOT of pictures of Jerilyn when  
  
they first started dating. He smiled as he got to the  
  
sequence of pictures when he first took her home to  
  
Minnesota to meet his family. He remember that week up at  
  
his parents' summer home on the lake. After that week, he  
  
was convinced he was going to marry her.  
  
He paused briefly at his favorite picture of her, the one  
  
he had made of copy of and had framed at his office. He had  
  
snapped her picture completely unaware. He and his father  
  
were cruising by in his dad's boat while she was sunning  
  
herself on dock, face tilted towards the sun, long hair  
  
blowing in the breeze, back before she started dying it  
  
blond...  
  
Ben stopped. Then looked again. He grabbed the newspaper  
  
and looked. Then looked at the picture in the photo album  
  
again.  
  
Jerilyn was sitting on the dock, completely free and easy,  
  
legs dangling in the lake water. The lake surrounding her  
  
was a blue as a dream. She was wearing a bikini top and a  
  
pair of ratty demin shorts that had seen better days. Her  
  
eyes were squinted because of the sun and one hand was  
  
pushing her long dark brown hair out of her eyes...  
  
Ben looked back at the newspaper again.  
  
The Honorable Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder was wearing a  
  
black suit with a dark blue shirt and a snazzy blue and  
  
silver tie. His eyes were squinted because he was facing  
  
the sun. One hand was pushing his dark brown hair out of  
  
his eyes...  
  
Ben took a quick breath. "Holy God," he said while thinking  
  
Why hasn't anyone noticed before??  
  
Granted, the physical differences would throw anyone.  
  
Jerilyn had fair skin and her nose was very small and  
  
straight, almost elfish. While Mulder had a more swarthy  
  
complexion and his nose looked like it had been broken a  
  
few times. Plus Mulder was well over six foot tall and  
  
Jerilyn only had a few inches, if even that, over Scully.  
  
Still... and Ben knew his Mendolian laws quite well. Plus,  
  
as a lawyer and an amateur photographer, he was well  
  
trained for looking for the minute details. They had the  
  
*exact* same dark hair color, the *exact* same pouty Cupid  
  
lips, the *exact* same eye-color and even the *exact* same  
  
unconscious facial and body expressions. It was too close  
  
to be a coincidence.  
  
"Oh my God..." he moaned. "How do I tell her that the man  
  
she hates more than life itself may be her brother... Jesus  
  
H., when did my life turn into a freaking soap opera?" He  
  
chuckled. "'As the Stomach Churns.'"  
  
Just then, the phone rang. "Who the hell?"  
  
Ben dove for the phone, hoping to get it before the ringing  
  
woke up Jerilyn. "Hello?" he asked rudely. It was, after  
  
all, way after midnight.  
  
"Didn't you get my message?" A breathy feminine voice  
  
asked...  
  
Jerilyn, who was not asleep, had lazily reached for the  
  
phone when it rang just as Ben had. She heard Ben's harsh  
  
"Hello?" and was about to hang up again when she heard the  
  
sulty woman's voice ask if he received his message. Wide  
  
awake now, she bolted up in bed, covering the mouthpiece  
  
with her hand, listening.  
  
"What message?" Ben rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Miss, I think  
  
you have the wrong numbe-"  
  
"This isn't the wrong number, Ben and you know what message  
  
I'm talking about."  
  
Ben remembered. "I'm not going anywhere tonight."  
  
"It won't take long. Jerilyn won't even know you're gone."  
  
The hell she won't Jerilyn's rapid-fire temper was  
  
already heated up.  
  
"I'm tired," Ben protested. "I am not up for any games in  
  
the dark tonight."  
  
"This is no game, Counselor," the woman purred. "I have all  
  
the answers to every question you seek."  
  
A pregnant pause. "We'll see," Ben growled.  
  
I'll be waiting," was all the woman said before she hung  
  
up.  
  
Ben groaned. Got up, looked at his half-melted ice-cream.  
  
Looked at the pictures of his wife and the newspaper paper  
  
of the Deputy Mayor. He lit a cigarette, smoking it to the  
  
filter while he paced. Maybe the truth is out there in  
  
that warehouse he wondered. His curiosity was riled, he  
  
crept back to his bedroom...  
  
... and found his wife, standing in the doorway, dressed  
  
and loading her gun.  
  
Not a good sign.  
  
"Wherever you think you're going tonight, honey," Agent  
  
Starkweather said, holstering her gun. "You're taking me  
  
with."  
  
Al, who had been watching the whole time, groaned silently.  
  
At least she can't see me yet he thought in relief....  
  
"No you're not," Ben snapped, pushing past Jerilyn to the  
  
dresser where he pulled out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.  
  
"Excuse me?" Jerilyn put the gun down on the dresser and  
  
faced Ben as he dressed. "Some femme fatale calls at the  
  
witching hour, telling you she needs to meet with you  
  
tonight because she's got "the answers" and you have the  
  
balls to tell me that I'm not coming with? Ben, I know  
  
you're not stupid enough to cheat on me so I'm thinking  
  
this is about that damn oil rig case. And if it is and  
  
something is going down tonight, something that we can blow  
  
them out of the water with... I don't know, call me silly,  
  
but MAYBE you'd want someone with a gun and a badge and  
  
handcuffs there. I can call Doggett and the DC PD and we'd  
  
be all over it in less than ten minutes."  
  
"How do you know this is even about the case?"  
  
"Because," she said condescendingly, "I work for the *X-  
  
Files.* Granted, I'm still a rookie, but a mysterious phone  
  
call in the middle of the night usually means some spooky  
  
shit is going to go down."  
  
"Jerilyn," he said reluctantly. "You can't come."  
  
"Why the hell not?"  
  
"Because... you're going to be subpeanoed for this case  
  
too."  
  
"WHAT!!" she exploded. "Is that what you meant by all  
  
that "meeting in the middle" crap? Besides, what good is my  
  
testimony going to do? I wasn't even working on the X-Files  
  
when all of that went down."  
  
"I know, but I need you as a character witness, reaffirming  
  
the credentials of Doggett and Mulder."  
  
"And a day ago you were ready to cook me because you  
  
thought I was ready to bone Doggett... excuse the nasty  
  
pun."  
  
"Aw, Christ, I thought we settled that!" Ben fired back. "I  
  
said I was wrong, I said I was sorry."  
  
"Then let me come with you."  
  
"NO."  
  
"Ben, no offense, but you are a desk jockey, okay? Your  
  
territory is the law library and the court room. If I'm not  
  
mistaken, you were trying to sneak out in the dead of  
  
night, dressed in black," she looked up and down at his  
  
dark jeans and black t-shirt, "you're acting like a man  
  
going on a stakeout and that's MY playing field."  
  
"Jerilyn," he said as patiently as he could. "Honey, I need  
  
you to trust me on this one. Yes, part of this is about the  
  
case, but part of it... is... for us."  
  
"Us?"  
  
"Jerilyn..." Ben said. "I need to go do a little digging.  
  
You're right, I'm a desk jockey, so research is MY thing  
  
and I've got big time questions, especially concerning the  
  
Deputy Mayor." Right away, her face crinkled in distaste,  
  
but he plodded on, "I think this case has a lot more to do  
  
with Mulder than we realize."  
  
"Aaarrrrrgghhhh, CHRIST!! If it's an X-File, it's about  
  
Mulder, whether he's there or not. How does THAT affect  
  
anything?"  
  
"Not in a professional sense... personally, it would affect  
  
us personally."  
  
"How?"  
  
Ben took her by the hand and led her out to the living  
  
room. "Sit down," he said gently. "If I'm right... you're  
  
not going to like this."  
  
"Look at this picture," Ben pointed to the picture of her  
  
that he was admiring just a few moments ago.  
  
Jerilyn looked. "Yep that's me and I'm cute. So what?"  
  
"Look at this picture," he handed her the newspaper.  
  
Jerilyn looked, then handed it back to him. "And...?"  
  
"You don't see it!?!?" Ben said incredulously.  
  
"See what?"  
  
"Jerilyn LOOK," he said insistently. "The hair, the mouth,  
  
the EYES, Jeri, look at the eyes..."  
  
Al, meanwhile was still hovering about nervously, just  
  
waiting for Ziggy to go completely on the fritz and letting  
  
Jeri see him. Wow, if THAT doesn't send her into  
  
supernova... Al worried.  
  
Jerilyn looked, really really looked. She paled slightly  
  
but said defiantly. "NO."  
  
"Jeri, it's a possibility. You don't know who your natural  
  
parents are."  
  
"Ben," Now Jerilyn was being patient. "I'm not Samantha,  
  
I'm too young to be her. Plus, Scully told me that about  
  
two years ago that mystery was laid to rest. The girl is  
  
dead. She was killed when she was fourteen. I would have  
  
been six at the time."  
  
"You told me all about Samantha's abduction horror story  
  
and I'm not saying you're her. What I'm saying is... what  
  
if there was another sister?"  
  
"Another sister? That the family CONVIENIENTLY forgot  
  
about? They lost one kid so what's another one? Besides  
  
Ben, I was found in Hawaii when Mom and Dad were stationed  
  
in Pearl Harbor. As far as I know, Mulder was born and  
  
raised on the East Coast. What the hell have you been  
  
smoking?"  
  
"What if Mulder's dad had an affair or- or- his mother  
  
maybe? And she hid the pregnancy and gave you away  
  
afterwards?"  
  
"You are full of shit" Jerilyn said. "You tell me I'm crazy  
  
for staying with the X-Files, you think Scully and Mulder  
  
are nuts and now you're talking like them! Or, more  
  
accurately, you're talking like Mulder. You're coming up  
  
with this whole parentage theory based on two photographs."  
  
"Which is why I need to go, by myself." Ben said. "You said  
  
yourself these men are dangerous. From what little you've  
  
told me, they've been gunning for Mulder since Day One...  
  
and anyone remotely connected. Look, maybe I'm wrong, and I  
  
know you think I'm wrong... but that's just because you  
  
hate the guy and want nothing to do with him. But Jeri,  
  
honey," he said taking her hands, "what if these guys...  
  
this... what was that name you called them, the Syndicate?"  
  
Jerilyn nodded. Ben went on. "This Syndicate thing makes  
  
the same assumption that I did. They went after Scully.  
  
They went after their kid-"  
  
Jerilyn noticed with bemusement that her husband was the  
  
first to refer to the baby as both Mulder and Scully's son.  
  
"- what if they come after you? What if you were right and  
  
all that crazy shit that went down while you and Scully and  
  
Doggett were in Scotland was nothing more than a ruse just  
  
to bring you down."  
  
"People try to bring me down because I'm a federal agent  
  
and because I'm the Admiral's daughter. Not because Mulder  
  
and I are even remotely related, which I think is crazy and  
  
the worst stall tactic I have ever seen you use,  
  
Counselor."  
  
"Stall tactic?!?!" Ben's jaw dropped.  
  
"You're trying to piss me off about this whole supposed  
  
connection so I'll get mad enough to send you merrily about  
  
your way to play Mission Impossible alone. Ben, if you got  
  
a tip about these people... it could be a trap and you  
  
could get killed. Ben, I watched my partner get wounded and  
  
two of my friends die back at Minneapolis because of  
  
horseshit like this, and we had a team of six undercover  
  
guys on that case."  
  
"I remember that," Ben said grimly, for Jerilyn had been  
  
two months pregnant with the child she would lose three  
  
weeks after that unfortunate incident.  
  
"You're not going alone."  
  
"Yes I am."  
  
"NO YOU'RE NOT!" Al and Jerilyn shouted at the same time.  
  
Jerilyn jumped and looked around wildly.  
  
"What is it?" Ben asked.  
  
"I think I'm losing my mind." Jerilyn mumbled. Then she  
  
pressed on. "Fine, if I'm not going with, then either  
  
Scully or Doggett IS."  
  
"Goddamn it, I don't need a babysitter!" he yelled.  
  
Ben, you are WAY over your head on this one! If you're going to go, then TAKE  
  
someone with. If not, then for god's sake, don't go! Cripes, it's twenty to one already!"  
  
"Then give me the fucking file for the oil rig case!" Ben  
  
shouted. "Let me read it so I know what happened so I won't  
  
have to jump through these goddamn hoops!"  
  
"I CAN'T!" she yelled back. "Besides, I thought you had  
  
Kersh by the nose and he was going to give you that file."  
  
"I may have him by the nose, but your daddy's got him by  
  
the balls and I could get that file plus several others if  
  
you call him and tell him that we need them."  
  
"You know what?" Jerilyn said coldly. "If you're going to  
  
be a damn fool about this, then just go." Ben went into the  
  
bedroom to get his wallet and socks and shoes. Jerilyn  
  
stood up, pursed her lips together. "Dammit," she cursed.  
  
She followed him to the bedroom. "Wait." she asked. Ben  
  
stood there, arms crossed. Jerilyn went to small cabinet in  
  
their walk-in closet where she kept her weapons and amno  
  
under lock and key. She walked out, loading her little  
  
Beretta she wore on an ankle-holster. "Take this."  
  
"Aw, for God's sake-" he started to protest.  
  
"Humor me."  
  
So he took the weapon and walked out. Jerilyn followed him.  
  
Ben paused at the front door. "I wish you would trust me,"  
  
he said sadly.  
  
Icily she replied. "I wish I could trust you too."  
  
Ben slammed the door.  
  
Al shook his head Girl, I hope that's not the last time  
  
you see him alive he thought woefully as he punched some  
  
buttons so he would be sent to Sam's so he could update him  
  
on the information he received from Doggett before he  
  
popped in on the Starkweathers.  
  
Doggett Residence  
  
********************  
  
"Al, you can't expect me to believe Billy Miles is an  
  
alien." Sam said, pacing back and forth.  
  
"How else do you explain it? I'm not expecting you to  
  
believe it. All I'm expecting you to do here is stop Ben's  
  
murder. Stopping Billy Miles might be the only way to do  
  
that, and if Billy Miles has the strength to rip those bars  
  
apart and a man in half, well...all I'm sayin' is he ain't  
  
the Incredible Hulk." Al rebuttled, taking a long, much  
  
needed puff on his cigar. "The vile that you saw the freaky  
  
four get today might have a connection to Billy Miles." He  
  
said quietly, and then folding his arms.  
  
"Connection? How?"  
  
"While Goushie was running some tests on Zig and I couldn't  
  
get to you earlier today, Doggett and I had a nice little  
  
chat. He read the police reports I showed him, and said  
  
something didn't match up."  
  
"A lot doesn't seem to be matching up in this leap."  
  
"Yeah, well...something apparently was overlooked in the  
  
original investigation." Al said, hoping that Sam would  
  
skip the part where he had to break the rules and show him  
  
the police report.  
  
"What was overlooked?" Sam asked, and then in rapid-fire  
  
speed, sputtered out "How did Doggett know that it was  
  
overlooked?"  
  
"A man by the name of Justin Leo who was questioned the  
  
first time around mentioned the vile." Choosing not to  
  
answer the first question. "This was definately a high  
  
profile case, spread wall-to-wall all over the news, so the  
  
quiestioning officer never gave it a second thought. The  
  
vile was never mentioned in police reports."  
  
"How did Doggett know that it was overlooked Al?" Sam  
  
demanded.  
  
"I...uh...kinda hadda show him the old police reports..."  
  
"Al! You know we can't do that! Do you have *ANY* idea what  
  
might have happened because you told him the deal? You are  
  
lucky you weren't yanked off of the project! Or worse! You  
  
know what happens when we break policies! Dammit Al! What  
  
POSSESSED you to--"  
  
"Goushie, wait!" Al shouted into the air, apparently not  
  
paying attention to Sam's ranting. "Sam, I--"  
  
Just when Sam was going to let Al explain himself, he was  
  
gone. Sam was alone.  
  
2:36 AM  
  
Doggett Residence  
  
*****************  
  
Sam wasted no time after Al disappeared. He figured Ziggy's  
  
breakdown had to happen sooner than originally plan. Ben  
  
was going to get killed in less than two hours, and the  
  
only clue they had was the testimony from someone who may  
  
or may not be involved in his murder. A man named Justin  
  
Leo.  
  
"Let your fingers do the waking..." Sam mumbled as he  
  
fumbled through the yellow pages. There were only five  
  
Leo's in the book at all, and only one of them was named  
  
Justin. The address was a Maryland one, 242 Washington  
  
Avenue. Luckily, since Doggett was recently new to the  
  
area, it wasn't hard to find a Maryland City map neatly  
  
folded in what Sam assumed was a "junk drawer." He found  
  
the address with relative ease, bolted out the door, and  
  
didn't care that his tires screamed as he tore out of the  
  
driveway. He had to get to this Leo guy before Leo--or  
  
whoever--got to Ben. With a little luck, getting to Leo  
  
would at least delay what happened.  
  
He drove furiously, and the traffic angels were with him  
  
for once. There were barely any red lights or traffic...of  
  
course, what can you expect at that hour? He barrelled  
  
through a railroad track, barely missing the rails.  
  
The neighborhood close to the address was a modest one. The  
  
yards were mostly small, poorly kept and littered with  
  
trash. There were people milling around on the street  
  
corner, shouting over the beat of their boom box, eyeing  
  
the pick-up as it inched up the street, while Sam looked  
  
for 242.  
  
236...238...240...here it was...242. It was a one-story  
  
house with cracked dirty-white paint, and dingy blue trim.  
  
All the windows were lightless except a TV flickering in a  
  
window. Sam made his way up to the door, and pounded his  
  
fists. Sam felt like he was in the middle of a bad  
  
detective movie. "Open up! FBI!"  
  
A man with dark hair and a ten-o'clock shadow etching his  
  
chisled features opened the door. He donned a ratty Orioles  
  
T-shirt as swiss-cheased as Sam's memory and black sweats.  
  
"Can I help you?" He said, glancing back inside as if he  
  
had to get back to something soon.  
  
"Yeah, you're not in trouble or anything, all I need from  
  
you is a few answers. I'm Sa-John Doggett with the FBI.  
  
"Well, Agent SaJohn Doggett, what do you need to know?" The  
  
man scoffed, and inched away from the door.  
  
"You have a lot of stuff up here about uh...aliens..."  
  
Doggett said, looking around the house. There was an "I  
  
Want to Believe" poster like the one that hang in the x-  
  
files office, and newspaper clippings, tabloid articles,  
  
and even a map pinpointing, what Sam guessed, was recent  
  
sitings. "Kind of modest for a lawyer."  
  
"Yeah...this hobby of mine is expensive. I didn't know  
  
keeping track of little green men was against the law these  
  
days."  
  
"No...it isn't...just know someone else who keeps track of  
  
this stuff, too. He took out a recent photograph of Mulder  
  
that was in yesterday's paper of him and the Mayor at a  
  
ribbon-cutting. Mr. Leo shifted glances nervously from Sam  
  
to the paper, making the connection all too obvious.  
  
"He found anything?" Leo asked simply.  
  
"He's found out too much. I think that's why some people  
  
are out to get him. You know anything about that?"  
  
"What did he find?" Leo begged...and then swallowed, as if  
  
he needed oxygen to follow up with the next question. "Did  
  
he find Lily?" The man never even faced Sam, and visibly  
  
shriveled.  
  
Sam took a gamble and cautiously tried to talk the man out  
  
of getting involved with the Smoking Man and Kersh and the  
  
rest. It became clear to Sam that this man was only going  
  
through the only vehicle he saw possible to find Lilly--  
  
whoever she was.  
  
"He--we can find her. The right way." Sam was hoping he was  
  
getting through to him.  
  
"I can't promise that." Leo said quietly.  
  
"Then I can't promise you won't have a headache later." Sam  
  
said rapid-fire. And with one fell swoop, knocked Leo cold,  
  
and tied him to the chair. "Sorry about this. I'll come  
  
back to get you in the morning, I'll bring an icepack and  
  
some aspirin with me."  
  
Sam ran out of the house, and figured with him tied up, he  
  
wasn't going anywhere until he came back for him. Sam  
  
decided his best next step would be to see if anyone saw  
  
the same car he saw drive up to the warehouse. The kids  
  
were all at least twice his size, but he knew how to defend  
  
himself if that was necessary, so he went up to them  
  
amiably. He wasn't scared of them, and made sure that these  
  
people knew that.  
  
"John Doggett FBI. None of you guys are in any trouble,  
  
just wanna know something."  
  
"We ain't do nothin'" A tall kid, obviously their leader,  
  
with a nose that had been broken a few times, fair skin and  
  
bleached white hair defensed.  
  
"I--uh--didn't come here to arrest anyone, and I am not  
  
asking you to rat on any of you, either. Just wanna know  
  
one thing, that's all."  
  
"You wanna get us in trouble, Donnie?" Someone who was  
  
obviously his girlfriend asked. She was short, but had an  
  
odd trick of using that to her advantage, not letting that  
  
stop her from showing the kid who was in charge. "Don't  
  
talk to him like that, your mamma taught you better...and  
  
if she ain't, you know sure as hell I have. Straighten up!  
  
Now, agent," She said, turning to Sam and blinking her  
  
coffee eyes frankly at him, "whatchya wanna know?"  
  
"Charmaine, you gonna get us into sh*t we don't need to be  
  
in! This ain't our business. Don't tell him nothin'!"  
  
Donnie made one final plea.  
  
"Man, Donnie, she ain't never gonna hush up if you don't  
  
shutchyer trap. Now, 'fore I shoot your ugly head off, zip  
  
it!  
  
"Thank you, Nick." She said turning to the kid. "But if  
  
anyone's gonna shoot his ugly head off, it's gonna be  
  
*me*!" Charmaine said in the quiet anger of a tiger's  
  
growl. "Now, I apologize for my peeps, sir...*what* do you  
  
want to know?"  
  
"Just wondering if you guys noticed a nice car driving up  
  
to that house over there." He said, pointing to Leo's  
  
house. "It's a dark Sedan, newer car. Three or four older  
  
guys might be inside. You see anything like that?"  
  
"If we saw somethin' do we hafta come to court?" Nick  
  
asked.  
  
"No...nothing like that. I just need to know if you saw  
  
something."  
  
"Uh, these dudes were coming up from the direction you came  
  
up in a real nice sedan like that...might be navy blue or  
  
black. We couldn't tell. Looked real nice. They came up to  
  
us and paid us all like a hundred dollars each to come  
  
knock on that guys house if any cops were driving around  
  
here."  
  
"Thanks. Did they tell you guys why?" Sam was finally  
  
getting leads that night.  
  
"No...never did. Hell, at a hundred bucks, we didn't *care*  
  
why."  
  
"I appreciate it guys. If you ever need anything, or  
  
remember anything, just lemme know, alright?" He said,  
  
writing his name and office number on a scrap piece of  
  
paper in his pocket. "You guys take care." He said, handing  
  
the note to Charmaine.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
2:36AM  
  
Washington D.C. police Department  
  
*********************************  
  
"The Deputy Mayor's on his way to get his car."  
  
"So, fellas," Officer Dempsey was saying in the police  
  
station to the two cuffed suspects, looking at the two  
  
incredulously, "you're saying that this old dude smoking a  
  
cigarette hired you to steal a car. Sergeant, you wanna  
  
look through our data base and see if we've got a criminal  
  
record for This Old Dude Smoking a Cigarette? I'm sorry  
  
gentlemen, but the crumbs here just don't make a whole  
  
cracker. Why would someone want to steal the Deputy Mayor's  
  
car, to have it being driven back to them?"  
  
"We dunno, all we know is all we know, Miss Officer."  
  
Caster said. "He paid us five hundred for the bothovus. We  
  
didn't ask."  
  
"I see." She said, eyeing the both of them incredulously.  
  
"I'm gonna book you both for wreckless driving and aiding  
  
and abetting (sp?) a crime, and car theft." Then took a big  
  
breath, "You Damion Caster and Robert Carteri have the  
  
right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be  
  
used against you in the court of law, if you cannot affoard  
  
an attorney one will be provided for you by the state. Do  
  
you understand what I'm saying." She finally finished,  
  
thrilled with herself that she finally made it in one  
  
breath. The officer cuffing Carteri nodded approvingly.  
  
"Pete, you think you can take 'em into holding?" Wordlessly  
  
he took both the criminals to their cells just as Mulder  
  
was driving up to the station to get his car.  
  
Wordlessly, another officer took them into holding. Almost  
  
as soon as he left, Mulder breezed through the door in his  
  
sloppiest sweat pants and Yankees t-shirt  
  
"Officer, you said my car was here?" Mulder asked  
  
"Yeah," a surly stick-of-a-man grumbled, "It's in holding.  
  
Just fill these out, and you'll be able to get it in the  
  
morning."  
  
"The morning! Listen, Officer Krumsky, I'm NOT going to be  
  
late for work because I can't get my car out of holding!"  
  
"Sorry, Mr. Mulder, but the holding office ain't open till  
  
7:30. There ain't nothin' I can do. And my name *AIN'T*  
  
Officer Krumsky."  
  
"I'm sure there isn't, Officer Krumsky."  
  
"Oh, go blow it out your tail pipe." He grumbled as Mulder  
  
turned on his heals.  
  
A black Sedan drove up to the police headquarters. An  
  
elderly man got out of the car, and approached the desk.  
  
"Is Mr. Mulder's car ready? I'm here on his behalf." He  
  
said, slipping a hundred dollar bill.  
  
"Thank you, sir. Yes, it is. It's in holding though, and  
  
you won't be able to get it till it opens at 7:30."  
  
"In holding, eh?" He feigned loosing something, "He gave me  
  
the slips and the license plate and everything, but I  
  
seemed to have lost it. Can you give me another copy."  
  
"Yeah, I think that can be done. Have a nice night, sir.  
  
Take care!" The officer chirped as the man walked out.  
  
  
  
*****************************************************  
  
1:55am  
  
500 block Pennsylvania Ave.  
  
****************************  
  
The sugar and caffeine high from her doughnut and coffee  
  
break half an hour ago was not helping Officer Laura  
  
Dempsey awake. The drone of the APB's were not helping the  
  
situation, either. She willed her second wind to hit as she  
  
cruised down Pennsylvania Avenue. It was a quiet night, and  
  
she definitely needed some excitement to perk her up.  
  
The blue-hair special, this one a light blue '83 two-door  
  
Ford Taurus a few feet in front of her squealed its tires  
  
and wove in and out of traffic like a bat out of hell.  
  
She radioed her Sergeant and started chasing after it.  
  
"I gotta tail on MD license plate MS 101321, an '83, 84  
  
light blue Ford Taurus, two door."  
  
"Our database says that's a hot one." Her boss replied,  
  
"I'll send ya some back-up."  
  
"Grandma forgot to lock her door on her way in to play  
  
bingo Sarge?"  
  
"It's the Deputy Mayor's car."  
  
"Damn, good to see our tax-money put to use. I'm on 'em."  
  
She put the police lights on, they wouldn't pull over. She  
  
turned on the siren, and they still wouldn't pull over. She  
  
chased after them down JFK, till a train finally forced  
  
them to stop.  
  
"Hold it right there! You're under arrest." Laura boomed  
  
through the loud speaker. Finally, the car pulled into a  
  
gas station.  
  
"The Deputy Mayor's going to be happy to get his car back,  
  
boys." Laura said after the usual cuffing them and reading  
  
their rights.  
  
"He hired us." The one named Caster said  
  
"*WHO* hired you? For *WHAT*?"  
  
Potomac River Bay Warehouse  
  
3:02 AM  
  
Ben sat in his car, chain-smoking furiously. Goddamn it  
  
he thought as he smoked down the last cigarette that he  
  
had. The fight with his wife, the speeding drive he made  
  
down to the warehouse, sitting there for three hours had  
  
all come to naught. Oh how Jerilyn was going to rub it in  
  
when he told her. "Nothin' but a damn snipe hunt," he  
  
growled as he turned his car on and pulled away.  
  
After seeing his father-in-law with all those other men of  
  
power earlier today, Ben really wanted to talk to him more  
  
than anything else. He was getting to the point where he  
  
really wasn't caring about the case anymore, he hated to  
  
admit that Jerilyn was right and he was getting over his  
  
head. But, after tonight's revelation, he knew he had to  
  
talk to the Admiral. He had to know if he was right. He had  
  
a sneaking suspicion that the Admiral knew the truth behind  
  
Jerilyn's true origins and it was no coincidence that a  
  
spot in the X-Files opened up just as Jerilyn's career in  
  
Minneapolis started to go down the toilet.  
  
And if I am right Ben thought as he pulled up to a Kum-  
  
and-Go to buy more cigarettes Damn, family reunions are  
  
going to be fun. He could totally see Mulder and Jerilyn  
  
start bickering at a picnic table over dessert and Mulder,  
  
just to be obnoxious, smearing frosting on her face, then  
  
Jerilyn would be up in arms and come after him with the  
  
whole damn cake. He could also imagine recounting the  
  
events to his colleagues at work. "How was the reunion,  
  
Benny?" -- "Oh great, until my wife and my new brother-in-  
  
law started a food fight."  
  
Ben bought cigarettes, a hot dog with the works and a  
  
bottle of Evian water. He thanked the clerk and got back  
  
into his car.  
  
Eating the sloppy hot dog, he drove around a bit, not  
  
wanted to go home, not wanting to concede defeat, not  
  
wanting to have to spend the rest of the night having to  
  
listen to her rub it in what an idiot he had behaved. He  
  
toyed with the idea of going to the office and getting an  
  
early start, but he nixed that idea. He was tired. He drove  
  
around until he found a decent hotel.  
  
He pulled into a Holiday Inn that was not really popular  
  
with the touristy crowd and checked in. He took the wallet  
  
out of his back pocket of his jeans and Jerilyn's gun out  
  
of the pocket of his coat. He kicked off his shoes and  
  
wearily flopped down on the bed.  
  
Not even two seconds later, the door was kicked in,  
  
shattering the lock. "What the hell?" Ben demanded but the  
  
two assailants pummeled him into submission with heavy  
  
Magna flashlights.  
  
Bleeding, broken and unconscious, the two men in black  
  
dragged Ben out to the deserted parking lot towards a very  
  
nice Taurus with a "I Believe" bumper sticker on the back  
  
fender. An elderly man wearing a black suit and trench coat  
  
despite the June heat, lifted the hood of the car with his  
  
gloved hands. The two men dumped Ben in. The old man took  
  
out a small knife and made a cut in Ben's scalp. Not enough  
  
to kill him, but enough to make him bleed copiously all  
  
over the trunk. The old man slammed the trunk hard and  
  
ordered his accomplices. "Plans have changed. We need him  
  
alive. Bring him to the round-a-view point. Then take the  
  
car back and make sure you're discovered. We'll have you  
  
out on bond by the afternoon and you'll each have a million  
  
in your bank accounts waiting."  
  
The other two men nodded, got in the Taurus and drove off  
  
with the Cigarette Smoking Man lighting up a Morley,  
  
watching.  
  
Jerilyn's gun laid on the nightstand next to the alarm  
  
clock in the hotel room, untouched, unused and totally  
  
useless. 


	5. Trials and Tribulations

Cherry Tree Apartments  
  
Effiency #1013  
  
Dawn  
  
CGB Spender let himself into the little apartment rented  
  
under the name of John Archway. Unloosing his tie, he sank  
  
into the Barcolounger he just got yesterday. He toyed with  
  
the idea of turning the television on for white noise, but  
  
decided the noise of the most influential city in the  
  
United States making the transition from darkness into  
  
light would be background sound enough.  
  
"I'm getting too old for this," he mumbled to himself as he  
  
lit a cigarette. He smiled ruefully as he thought about his  
  
life after a year.  
  
Foolish Covarrubias and Krycek, leaving him for dead at the  
  
bottom of the stairs, without eliminating his nurse. She  
  
had rescued him and brought him to "the greys." With  
  
Jeremiah Smith as their prisoner, he was forced to heal  
  
him. Such irony. The Cancer Man had felt better now than he  
  
had in years.  
  
He laid low for the most part, convinced the X-Files would  
  
fall apart without the watchful eye of Mulder. He soon  
  
learned that, although he admired her, he had also  
  
underestimated Dana Scully.  
  
He had also underestimated the new G-man, John Doggett. No  
  
one expected the straight-laced modern day Rhett Bulter  
  
with the Brooklynese accent to last through the weirdness  
  
of the X-Files.  
  
He had also underestimated Monica Reyes. She had been  
  
foolishly written off as a flake, a nobody, not a force to  
  
be reckoned with.  
  
Still he remained in retirement. He was rather enjoying a  
  
bit of peace, letting the new recruits slowly rebuild the  
  
project.  
  
Then he heard there was Starkweather on the forecast and he  
  
seized control of the project he started so many years ago.  
  
He knew that he would never know peace again.  
  
Twenty-eight years too late, he realized the Syndicate made  
  
two fatal mistakes. The first was only taking Samantha and  
  
not Fox. The second was letting the Admiral taking the  
  
girl-baby home to his wife when he was ordered to destroy  
  
her, at the time the only evidence of successful alien-  
  
human hybridization.  
  
He wondered how long it would be before they would figure  
  
it out that Jerilyn was in this world but not of this  
  
world.  
  
He worried about when Jerilyn would produce a child of her  
  
own. Dana Scully and Fox Mulder already created one and  
  
that was bad enough. If Starkweather were to ever  
  
procreate... he didn't even want to think of it... which  
  
was why it was a godsend that Mr. Starkweather had decided  
  
to meddle in the oil rig affair. Perfect opportunity to  
  
make Mrs. Starkweather a widow.  
  
But that wasn't enough. The Cancer Man knew he had to do  
  
more.  
  
For his own reasons, he had tried to keep Fox Mulder alive  
  
ever since he was a child. Because of the strength of the  
  
Admiral's pleading and the assumption that the infant would  
  
die within hours anyway, he let him take Jerilyn home. But  
  
now, twenty-eight years too late, he realized that twice,  
  
by letting emotions rule instead, he very well may have  
  
crafted the doom of his own planet. There was precious  
  
little time left to rectify those mistakes.  
  
Fox William Mulder and Jerilyn Michelle Bailey Starkweather  
  
were not children anymore. The decision had been made and  
  
he could rest with his conscience.  
  
The Mulder dynasty would be wiped out with one fell stroke.  
  
It had to be.  
  
  
  
Ben and Jeri's apartment  
  
5:10 AM  
  
The radio alarm clock went off, right in the middle of "The  
  
Bob and Tom" show. Jerilyn's hand snaked out from  
  
underneath of the covered and solidly thumped the alarm  
  
clock. She snuggled deeper under the covers and scootched  
  
closer to the middle of the bed where Ben usually slept.  
  
Jerilyn sat straight up in bed. "Ben?" she asked. She leapt  
  
out of bed and reached for the phone, calling Ben's office  
  
first. It rang and rang and rang. "Don't panic, don't  
  
panic..." she told herself as she dialed Ben's cell phone.  
  
"Why did I let him go alone..."  
  
*******************  
  
The Holiday Inn  
  
Room 127  
  
Detective Edward Carillo surveyed the scene while the  
  
forensics team went through the room with a fine-tooth  
  
comb. He turned to the night-manager who was perspiring  
  
heavily. "And NOBODY saw ANYTHING?" he asked.  
  
The night-manager wiped his forehead with a white  
  
hankerchief. "No sir, Mr. Starkweather checked in a quarter  
  
to three. Our security guard noticed the door broken into  
  
at about four-thirty and saw the blood all over. We called  
  
the police immediately. We didn't touch ANYTHING."  
  
Just then, the cell phone on the nightstand next to the gun  
  
began to ring.  
  
Carillo took out his own hankerchief and picked up the  
  
phone. "Hello?"  
  
A pause. Then, a surly suspicious voice, "You're not Ben."  
  
"No, I am not. Who may you be?"  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
"I asked you first."  
  
"I'm Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather with the Federal  
  
Bureau of Investigation who is trying to call her husband  
  
on his cell phone. With those pleasantries out of the way -  
  
- WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?"  
  
"My name is Detective Edward Carillo with the DC PD, Agent  
  
Starkwe-"  
  
"Detective?? DETECTIVE?? What-- wh-what's going on? Where's  
  
Ben?"  
  
"Agent Starkweather, could you meet us at the police  
  
station in twenty minutes."  
  
"Oh God, oh my God... WHAT HAPPENED! WHERE IS BEN??"  
  
Jerilyn clutched the phone tightly.  
  
"Mrs. Starkweather we need to ask you some questions."  
  
Jerilyn pulled herself together and forced her to think  
  
like an FBI agent. "Okay, okay... I'll be there as soon as  
  
possible." She hung up the phone. Took several deep  
  
breaths, picked up the phone and dialed.  
  
******************  
  
Sam had just got to Doggett's apartment. He stopped at the  
  
door, holding the keys in his hands. "Okay, if I stopped  
  
Ben's murder, I will leap... now... NOW... NOW NOW NOW..."  
  
Doggett's cell phone began to ring. "Oh no..." he answered  
  
with a heavy heart... "Doggett."  
  
There were several deep breaths before: "Papa.. um... it's  
  
me, I need a favor..." a small voice on the other end  
  
replied. "Ben's gone... nobody knows where he is. A cop  
  
answered his cell phone when I tried to call and he told me  
  
he wants me to come to the police station... and... and I  
  
don't want to go by myself..." her voice cracked.  
  
Sam grimaced. "I'll pick you up," he said.  
  
"Thank you." a subdued Starkweather hung up the phone.  
  
Sam put the phone to his head. "Oh boy."  
  
Al was yanked from Sam and Doggett's house into complete  
  
darkness. He knew immediately what had happened. They had  
  
to break Ziggy down to try and purge the virus. To do that,  
  
they had to turn off the electricity. Unfortunately, the  
  
electricity was killed before Al had a chance to get out of  
  
the chamber door.  
  
It was as dark as unconsciousness, which oddly enough  
  
served as a small comfort to Al. He couldn't see how small  
  
the space was that he was confined in, and that was a great  
  
help to his state of mind. He started banging his fists on  
  
the door furiously.  
  
"Gooooooooooouuuuuuuuusssssssssshiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee!!!!!!!  
  
!!!!!" Al hollared at the top of his lungs.  
  
"Admiral," Goushie stammerred, "I'm busy...in a way...over  
  
here, trying to fix the mainframe." Goushie always  
  
stammered, but it got worse when he had to tell something  
  
he knew the recipient didn't want to hear.  
  
"Al, we'll have the electricity back on as soon as we can,  
  
meanwhile, just sit tight, okay?" Came Dr. Beeks' crisp  
  
voice on the other side of the wall.  
  
Al flicked the gas on his lighter he kept in his pocket for  
  
his cigars.  
  
"How's Starkweather?" Doggett asked.  
  
"Dr. Beeks, would you mind telling me why he's out of the  
  
waiting room?"  
  
"I can't see to find my way outta here, Admiral." Doggett  
  
assured him. "I won't be headin' out any time soon. How's  
  
Starkweather."  
  
"Yeah, *sure* he doesn't have any feelings for her." Al  
  
grumbled. Then louder to reassure Doggett on the other  
  
side, "She's fine for now. Last I checked before the power  
  
shut was Mr. Starkweather is still killed tonight."  
  
"Damn!" He shouted, pounding his fist against the door.  
  
"Doc, you got a sledge hammer or something I can get this  
  
door down with?" Doggett suggested, trying to help.  
  
"In the emergency kit. Tina? You think you can get it for  
  
him?"  
  
"Sure 'Beena." Tina chirped.  
  
"NO!" Al protested adamantly. "If you break down that door,  
  
I can't get back there, and that's no good for anybody.  
  
Least of all for your little chickadee."  
  
"She's not my little chickadee," Doggett argued, "and if we  
  
don't get you outta there, you're gonna use up all that  
  
oxygen if we can't get the electricity back on, and that's  
  
no good for anybody either."  
  
"There's a good chance we'll get the power back on." Al  
  
persisted. "I cannot leave Sam back there!" He shouted.  
  
"There's enough Oxygen in here to last a couple of days."  
  
He said, evaluating the situation. Then turned off his  
  
lighter, because that was eating up his oxygen supply. He  
  
sat on the floor, figuring now would be a good opportunity  
  
to take a nap, fervently hoping that the electricity would  
  
turn on before it was too late  
  
4:37 AM  
  
En route to Doggett Residence  
  
*****************************  
  
With at least *some* good leads on, and the main suspect  
  
incapacitated, Sam decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to  
  
salvage what he could of at least a couple of the hours  
  
left of sleep.  
  
He was about to take his turn-off when he saw a black car  
  
with two elderly men sitting in the front. There was one in  
  
the back, but he couldn't make out who it was. None of the  
  
faces looked at all familiar. When they pulled up next to  
  
him at the red light before his turn-off, Sam realized that  
  
it was the same car.  
  
He waited until it wouldn't be obvious that he was being  
  
followed, and decided to take his chance. They waited until  
  
they were inside Maryland, and stopped on a bridge, and  
  
took a six-foot long unsecured bag out, and slumped it over  
  
the edge. Sam waited at the underpass in the shadows,  
  
making sure he wasn't spotted. Judging from the evidence of  
  
what these men had done before, Sam was sure that waiting  
  
till Doggett, Scully, Reyes, and Starkweather could build a  
  
strong case against them. It wouldn't do anyone any good  
  
for him to have the same fate as the pour soul of whoever  
  
was in the body bag. The latest piece of evidence would  
  
have to be revealed in the morning with everyone there.  
  
Now, Sam thought yawning, first thing's first. If he  
  
planned to be coherent at all the next day, he would need  
  
at least a little sleep.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
...a few hours earlier...  
  
"No...I want Starkweather alive, just make it easy to  
  
assume that he is dead." Marita said. "You *do* understand,  
  
Admiral; we will only kill him if he doesn't help our  
  
agenda. He is in no danger at this time."  
  
"It will destroy my daughter." The Admiral mildly  
  
protested.  
  
"Oh, so that's why he's in a hotel room tonight?" She  
  
hissed. "I'm sure she won't have anymore spirit left in  
  
her. That's what we're aiming for."  
  
"I won't be responsible for this."  
  
"You were responsible for the end of many lives, Admiral."  
  
she reminded coldly. "What is one more to add to the list.  
  
If he dies, she lives...we all live. He will be martyred  
  
for all of us. Maybe you can sleep at night if you think of  
  
it in that way."  
  
"What can you do about it now, anyway, Admiral." Kersh  
  
agreed. "This has all been set in motion anyway. Our people  
  
have already begun the process. You could not stop it if  
  
you tried."  
  
"I suppose I can't stop the tides, either." The Admiral  
  
said quietly, and turned on his heals, heading back to his  
  
hotel room.  
  
  
  
Scully's apartment  
  
right after Mulder gets back from the police station...  
  
Mulder let himself in just as his cell rang. "Mulder," he  
  
said in a hushed tone, for Scully and the baby were still  
  
sleeping.  
  
It was the Mayor, "I'm hoping that I caught you before  
  
you're leaving for work, I just wanted to let you know that  
  
the breakfast meeting got cancelled. I don't need you here  
  
until about ten or so."  
  
I love politics Mulder grinned as he looked towards  
  
Scully's bedroom. "Well... if you insist..."  
  
The Mayor chuckled before he hung up. "Go take that pretty  
  
redhead of yours out to breakfast. I'll see you around ten-  
  
thirty."  
  
Mulder, smiling like a seventeen year old boy at prom,  
  
crept into Scully's bedroom.  
  
He reflected on the many many classic novels he had to read  
  
for his English requirements while at Oxford. They always  
  
invariably described the heroine in repose with adjectives  
  
such as "angelic", "heavenly" and "queenly."  
  
Scully was none of those while she slept. The covers were  
  
kicked off, her pajamas completly rumpled. Her hair was  
  
wildly tousled, her mouth wide open, snoring slightly.  
  
Mulder shrugged off his coat and kicked off his shoes. He  
  
crossed over to Scully and smoothed her hair out of her  
  
face. The slight touch startled Scully out of sleep.  
  
"Mulder... what??"'  
  
"Well, Scully, I've got good news and good news."  
  
"That's a first. Normally it's bad news and worse news."  
  
Scully sat up.  
  
"The good news is they found my car. I think they're going  
  
to sell the videotape of the bust to FOX's "Stupidest  
  
Criminals.""  
  
"That IS good news," Scully said. "What's the other good  
  
news."  
  
Mulder crawled on top of the bed. "The GOOD news is, that  
  
my ass-crack of dawn breakfast meeting has been cancelled  
  
and the Mayor just called and said he didn't need me until  
  
ten-thirty."  
  
Scully rolled over. "Mulder... this is my day off... I was  
  
going to sleep in..." Mulder pounced on her and started to  
  
tickle her. "Noooooooo stop stop... you'll wake the  
  
baby..." she giggled.  
  
Mulder stopped tickling but he held her down playfully on  
  
the bed. "Come on Scully," he teased. "After an eight year  
  
long partnership fraught with peril, destruction, terror  
  
and unrequited emotional ties, we've got a lot of making up  
  
to do."  
  
"Mulder, don't you think having Will is make-up enough?"  
  
But Scully was already struggling to get Mulder's shirt  
  
off.  
  
"Well, I figure Will makes up for at least three years of  
  
unspoken sexual tension." Mulder start planting butterfly  
  
kisses on her forehead and face.  
  
Scully smiled and tilted her head up towards his to meet  
  
his mouth. "Mulder....???"  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?" He was busy nibbling on her  
  
neck and working downwards.  
  
"When did our lives turn into a soap opera?"  
  
"You're complaining?" He was undoing the buttons of her  
  
pajamas top. "I mean, if you really not into this, I know  
  
of a haunted house that's a twenty minute drive north of  
  
town that's supposed to beat the one we went to a few  
  
Christmases ago. At this house, back in 1915, an entire  
  
family was killed in a house fire and when someone built a  
  
new house on the old foundations in 1936-"  
  
"Mulder?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
She placed her hand underneath his chin so he would have to  
  
look up at her. "Shut up." She pushed him off and laid on  
  
top of him, kissing him as she ran her finger through his  
  
hair.  
  
Mulder gave her a naughty grin and shut up.  
  
The Washington DC Vehicle Impound  
  
7:45 am  
  
Norton Guffman walked towards the small office building,  
  
balancing a huge box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and two  
  
large Jamocha coffees. He kicked the door a few times  
  
instead of knocking. His friend and co-worker, Shaquille  
  
Rathaman opened and laughed at him. "Shoot..." she drawled.  
  
"Need a hand?" She took the coffees.  
  
"Ready for another exciting day of paper-pushin'?" he asked  
  
her as he went inside.  
  
"Oh lord, aren't I always?" Shaquille settled herself  
  
behind her desk. "Oh, hey, FYI for ya, honey. We've got the  
  
Deputy Mayor's car here in VIP status. He'll be here later  
  
today."  
  
"The Deputy wha--? Why?"  
  
"Ah, some punk-ass kids stole his car last night and when  
  
the cops recovered it, they brought it down here."  
  
"Huh," Guffman said, looking out the window at Mulder's car  
  
while slurping coffee, dribbling it down his freshly washed  
  
white blouse. "Damn," he muttered while his partner  
  
laughed.  
  
"Your wife's gonna shoot you for gettin' another shirt  
  
dirty, Norty."  
  
"Well, and the Deputy Mayor's gonna shoot us for having  
  
that car dirty, look at the big grease spot on the trunk."  
  
He put the sloppy cup of coffee down and took out his  
  
hankerchief. "I'm gonna go clean it off 'fore he gets  
  
here."  
  
"Brown noser," Shaquille said before she busied herself  
  
with paperwork.  
  
Guffman wallked outside, already feeling the oppressive  
  
June heat. "Damn," he said again, wiping his forehead. When  
  
he got close to the car, he stopped, did a double take and  
  
said "What in the world..." Gingerly he touched the spot,  
  
looked at his fingers and started to shake... "Oh my  
  
Gosh..." he ran back to the office.  
  
Shaquille looked up. "Norty, you're whiter than usual,  
  
what's up?" she quipped.  
  
"Shaquille, call the cops and get me the keys to the Deputy  
  
Mayor's car."  
  
"What? Norty have you lost you mind-" she started to say  
  
but was silenced when Guffman held up his two fingers. They  
  
were coated in blood.  
  
"Gimme those keys," he said in a shaky voice. "I think  
  
there's somethin' in that trunk."  
  
"You ain't touching a damn thing until the cops get here,"  
  
Shaquille ordered as she dialed frantically.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, rookie Officer Jennifer Ithenstein  
  
opening the trunk open while her partner Howard Lisbon,  
  
still bleary-eyed from his call out to the hotel room where  
  
the up and coming lawyer Benjamin Starkweather was abducted  
  
from, covered her back.  
  
"Holy Schnikes," she exclaimed when the trunk flew open.  
  
"What is it?" Guffman quailed.  
  
But Ithenstein was busy radioing back to dispatch. "We need  
  
CSI and some DC "dicks" (police slang for detectives) at  
  
the impound, ASAP," she said harshly. "I got a trunk of a  
  
early model Ford Taurus, dripping with blood."  
  
Guffman fainted.  
  
Lisbon peered over Ithenstein's shoulder. "There's  
  
something in there," he said, slipping on latex gloves. He  
  
reached in and pulled it out. "It's a man's billfold," he  
  
announced. "I'm opening it..... oh my God..."  
  
"What is it?" Ithenstein asked looking at the one thing no  
  
one could find at the crime scene at the Holiday Inn:  
  
Benjamin Starkweather's wallet.  
  
As Lisbon stared at the Minnesota driver's license inside  
  
the wallet, he turned to his parter and said: "Call  
  
Carillo."  
  
Meanwhile  
  
Interrogation Room A  
  
Washington DC Police Station  
  
8:01 AM  
  
Sam was leaning against the wall, angrily watching the  
  
interogation dance between Carillo and Starkweather, but  
  
holding his tongue.  
  
Carillo rubbed his temples again. "Alright, Mrs.  
  
Starkweather, let's go through this one more time."  
  
Starkweather, dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of  
  
black dress slacks, her hair pulled up in its  
  
characteristic bun, gritted her teeth and glared at the  
  
detective. "Sir, with all due respect," she heroically  
  
blinked back tears. "I've told you what happened last night  
  
twice already. I am well schooled in the art of  
  
questioning. If you're looking for discrepancies in my  
  
"story", you aren't going to find any."  
  
They can't suspect her Sam thought incredulously.  
  
"But you admit that you and Mr. Starkweather are having  
  
martial difficulties."  
  
"That's not exactly a deep dark secret," Starkweather said  
  
coolly.  
  
"But you let him go alone to a potentially life-threatening  
  
situation."  
  
"He was adamant about going alone, I told you this. We got  
  
into an argument about him going. He assured me that he  
  
would be fine alone, so for my own sanity's sake, I gave  
  
him one of my firearms to take with. Ben can handle a  
  
weapon. He and his father go hunting all the time. I wanted  
  
to go with or have him at least call my partner here, or my  
  
superior, Agent Scully. But he insisted on going alone, so  
  
I let him." Sam and Carillo could barely hear her say: "I  
  
shouldn't have let him go alone."  
  
Carillo pressed on. "That would be Agent Dana Scully? Of X-  
  
File fame?"  
  
"Yes sir, we all work on the X-Files."  
  
"And you believe that your husband's disappearance is  
  
directly connected to an X-File case that your husband was  
  
taking to court?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Carillo's partner just then entered the interrogation room.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to Carillo  
  
privately," said Dectective David Sommerset.  
  
Carillo excused himself. Despite her knowledge of the two-  
  
way mirror and the hidden tape recorder, she turned to Sam  
  
and pleaded, "What AREN'T they telling us?"  
  
"I don't know, Starkweather," Sam said helplessly.  
  
Starkweather folded her hands together as if she was  
  
praying and pressed her hands against her forehead, her  
  
shoulders shaking as she fought tears.  
  
Outside the interogation room, Sommerset asked Carillo.  
  
"Whaddya think?"  
  
"Well, she doesn't have an alibi and her reports from her  
  
previous field office in Minneapolis don't have much good  
  
to say about her, she was written up several times for  
  
inappropriate displays of temper... but... I don't know  
  
man, my gut's telling me she doesn't have a clue what's  
  
going on. I think she's clean."  
  
"Well, I think your guts right."  
  
"Whaddya got?"  
  
"Ithenstein and Lisbon went out on a car on a report with  
  
blood stains on the Deputy Mayor's trunk."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Lemme finish. The Deputy Mayor used to be a fibbie, working  
  
with the X-Files and it's no secret at City Hall or J.  
  
Edgar that the DM and Agent Starkweather do not get along.  
  
Plus, he's got no love for her husband ever since he  
  
subpoenaed him, along with Agent Doggett, Agent Scully and  
  
his own wife for some court case on the last case the DM  
  
ever worked on as an official fibbie. I don't know what the  
  
nature of the case is, but from what I've been able to  
  
gather in a short time, it's a big'un and nobody working  
  
for the Spook Squad at J. Edgar wants that case to go to  
  
trial."  
  
"What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Lisbon found Mr. Starkweather's wallet in the DM's trunk.  
  
The trunk was saturated in blood. We've got samples set to  
  
forensics right now."  
  
"You think those two feds," Carillo gestured towards the  
  
interrogation room, "may have cooked something up along  
  
with the DM so they don't have to go to court?"  
  
"I would have said yes," Sommerset said. "Except for the  
  
fact that our happy little car-jackers changed their  
  
stories. They're now saying that it was the Deputy Mayor  
  
that hired him. They're saying that the DM wanted Ben out  
  
of the way and when they asked if he was worried about  
  
getting caught, he laughed it off, saying that the blame  
  
would fall on those two 'cause it's been rumored that those  
  
two share more than offices, if you know what I mean. Plus  
  
it's also not a secret that the DM's got a major hard-on  
  
for Agent Doggett because Doggett supposedly pushed the DM  
  
out of the X-Files. Doggett's got a solid history for being  
  
absolutely by-the-book, plus a total career-climber. You're  
  
looked at the next possible AD when Skinner retires. As for  
  
the missus... well, maybe she's doing the nasty with him  
  
and maybe not, but if her Minneapolis transcripts are  
  
spotted, her military, her med school and her DC records  
  
are squeaky clean, not to mention her personal history of  
  
being straight as a die. According to our profiler, if she  
  
wanted to get rid of her husband, she'd be more of the type  
  
to serve him papers, not blow him away."  
  
"But neither one of 'em got alibis."  
  
"But you just said that your gut says she's clean."  
  
"I know, but I need proof to back up my gut." Carillo said.  
  
"What do you want me to do?"  
  
"Bring me the Deputy Mayor."  
  
Scully's apartment  
  
8:17 am  
  
Spooned around her tiny body, Mulder played with her hair.  
  
"Scully?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"We should go somewhere."  
  
"Go where?" she asked lazily. "Out for breakfast?"  
  
"No... I mean, away, on a trip. Just me and you and Boo."  
  
"Mulder, do my ears deceive me? Are you actually suggesting  
  
a vacation? Like normal people?"  
  
"Well, I haven't really gone on a vacation except for  
  
Graceland a few years ago, unless you call being held  
  
against my will on a spaceship then being buried alive for  
  
three months a vacation."  
  
"Ha ha." Scully turned around to face him. "Where would you  
  
want to go?"  
  
"How about the Black Hills."  
  
"The Black Hills?"  
  
"Yeah. The Black Hills, South Dakota. Get a nice hotel room  
  
in Rapid City, go see Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse  
  
monument, Sturgis, hey in fact, if we can schedule it  
  
right, we can go up there the same time the big Harley  
  
Davidson rally is up there. Whaddya say, Scully? I won't  
  
shave for about two weeks and... neither would you I guess,  
  
then get all of us some matching leather pants and I'll get  
  
a Hog with a side-car so all three of us can ride up  
  
together. They make the cutest little helmets for  
  
babies..."  
  
"Mulder, your idea of family togetherness scares me."  
  
"I hope you're not suggesting Disneyland. I have a deep-  
  
seated fear of Donald Duck."  
  
"I think William's a little young for Disneyland. I think  
  
he's also a little young for Sturgis too."  
  
"Well how old does he have to be before I can take him to  
  
the rally?"  
  
"Forty."  
  
Mulder snorted with laughter. "Well, where do you want to  
  
go?"  
  
"Name a state that we haven't been to where no type of  
  
paranormal strangeness has occured to us."  
  
"Well, that rules out the majority of the Continental  
  
United States." Mulder reasoned. "How about this Scully?  
  
This weekend, I'll go up to Mom and Dad's house in Martha's  
  
Vineyard and get it fixed up and as soon as this fiasco  
  
with Ben Starkweather's law suit gets cleared up, we'll go  
  
up there for a long week and pretend we're just the typical  
  
boring, middle-aged All-American family."  
  
Scully snuggled closer. "Works for me."  
  
Just then Mulder's cell phone rang. "Arrggghhh... real  
  
life," he complained as he reached for his phone.  
  
"Mulder... yes... okay... sure that's no problem... what's  
  
this about... I see... I'll be there in forty-five  
  
minutes." He hung up.  
  
"What's that about?"  
  
"The police station. Something about my car. They said they  
  
had some questions for me." Mulder shrugged. "It's probably  
  
no big deal." He swung out of bed and headed for the  
  
shower.  
  
After checking on Will to make sure he was still asleep,  
  
Scully joined him.  
  
The police station  
  
9:16 am  
  
"Have a seat Mr. Mulder," Detective Carillo offered. "Can I  
  
get you anything? Coffee, water? Juice."  
  
"No, thanks. What's going on?"  
  
"Oh, I've just got some quick questions," Carillo slid a  
  
photograph in front of him. "Do you know this man?"  
  
Mulder picked it up. "Sure, that's Ben Starkweather."  
  
"Do you know Mr. Starkweather very well?"  
  
Mulder's trouble sonar starting beeping loudly within him.  
  
"Has something happened to him?"  
  
"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Mulder."  
  
"I know him. Not very well, I'm better aquainted with his  
  
wife."  
  
"Ah, Mrs. Starkweather. Interesting lady, wouldn't you  
  
say?"  
  
"I wouldn't say she's a lady."  
  
"Good friends with Mrs. Starkweather?"  
  
Mulder eyed the detective suspiciously. "May I ask what  
  
this has to do with my car?"  
  
"I'm getting there. Are you good friends with Mrs.  
  
Starkweather?" Carillo asked again, a little more firmly.  
  
Mulder struggled for an answer. "No..." he finally said. "I  
  
wouldn't say Mrs. Starkweather and I are friends."  
  
"Uh-huh." Carillo made a note. "Mr. Mulder, where were you  
  
last night around.... oh... four AM?"  
  
"I was at Agent Dana Scully's house." Mulder felt himself  
  
getting defensive.  
  
"And she is...?"  
  
"My ex-partner when I was still working for the FBI."  
  
"Still good friends with Agent Scully?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Very good?"  
  
"We're in a relationship now," Mulder forced himself to  
  
say, it still felt weird admitting out loud what Scully  
  
really was to him. "We're raising a child together."  
  
"How nice," Carillo said. "Can she corraborate your story,  
  
Mr. Mulder?"  
  
"Yes..." Mulder felt more and more uneasy. "Where are you  
  
going with this? Has something happened to the  
  
Starkweathers?"  
  
"You could say that. Would Agent Scully lie for you?"  
  
"What?" Mulder scowled. "Detective, you better tell me  
  
what's going on?"  
  
"Mr. Mulder, the trunk of your car was coated with blood."  
  
Carillo informed him pleasantly. "and Mr. Starkweather's  
  
wallet was found in the trunk as well."  
  
"WHAT!!!" Mulder bolted out of his chair. "How?!?!"  
  
"I was hoping you could tell us."  
  
"ME?!?! But... I... I don't..." Mulder's mind began working  
  
frantically. I'm being set up. "My car was stolen  
  
earlier yesterday. I received a call early this morning  
  
that it was found... but..." Mulder shook his head. "I  
  
don't have any answers for you."  
  
Carillo eyed him carefully. "I see..."  
  
"Have you told Agent Starkweather?"  
  
"We've talked to her."  
  
"Is she alright?"  
  
"I thought you two weren't friends?"  
  
"We're not... but she's doing a good job in the X-Files, my  
  
old division and she is fairly good friends with Agent  
  
Scully. We don't see eye to eye all the time...  
  
Starkweather and I, but I respect her work and don't wish  
  
any harm to her OR her husband."  
  
Against his will, Carillo stood up and said. "You may leave  
  
Mr. Mulder, but I wouldn't recommend leaving town anytime  
  
soon. You never know when an arrest warrant would pop up."  
  
He went to the door and paused, fingering the door knob.  
  
"This is your only chance to come clean and tell us what  
  
happened. I could recommend leniency."  
  
"I wish I could tell you what happened too." Mulder said  
  
clearly, firmly.  
  
"Well, when we do come up with the goods, you better not  
  
make me chase after you, Deputy Mayor." Carillo said.  
  
"Otherwise that might put me in a real bad mood and I might  
  
tell the judge to throw the book at you instead." He opened  
  
the door and watched Mulder hurry out.  
  
Sommerset came out of the observation room. "Think that was  
  
a good idea, letting Mulder go like that?"  
  
Carillo shrugged. "He ain't going anywhere. He's got a  
  
girlfriend and a baby to worry about."  
  
Just then, another officer, clutching a Ziplock baggie came  
  
running down the hall. "DETECTIVE!!!! Wait!!!"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
The officer, out of breath, "We just found a body off the  
  
pier on the Potomac. Some kids can testify that they saw a  
  
group of men dump it in the river earlier this morning and  
  
that they were driving an early model Taurus."  
  
"Like the DM's!" Carillo grabbed the young rookie by the  
  
arm.  
  
"Told ya we shouldn't have let the DM go," Sommerset  
  
snarled as he ran down the hallway where Mulder  
  
disappeared.  
  
"Are you sure it's Starkweather?" Carillo demanded the  
  
young rookie.  
  
The rookie held up the Ziplock baggie. "The body was  
  
burned, but we took this off of him. It was on the left  
  
ring-finger."  
  
Carillo took the baggie and looked at the contents. "Oh  
  
shit!" he exclaimed and took off running.  
  
Sam escorted a very shaken Jerilyn Starkweather down the  
  
dingy hallway towards the exit. He felt so bad for her that  
  
he put his arm protectively around her shoulders. She  
  
didn't fight him off. "I can't believe this is happening,"  
  
she said softly, but dry-eyed.  
  
Sam was bereft words, for how could he say something as  
  
hollow as "We'll find him," when he already knew that Ben  
  
was dead.  
  
Just as they were about to exit, they met Mulder at the  
  
door. Starkweather glared. "What the hell are you doing  
  
here?"  
  
"Jerilyn, Doggett, I need to talk to you NOW," Mulder said  
  
insistantly but was interrupted by Carillo and Sommerset.  
  
Sommerset roughly grabbed Mulder by the arms, pulling out  
  
his handcuffs. "You're coming with me, buddy," he sneered.  
  
"What the hell?" Starkweather asked as Carillo pulled her  
  
aside.  
  
While Sommerset read him his rights, Mulder was yelling at  
  
Sam and Starkweather. "Jerilyn! Doggett, I'm being set up.  
  
Please! Call Scully, call the Gunmen, find out what's going  
  
on! Jerilyn, listen to me, whatever he's saying, it's NOT  
  
TRUE!!"  
  
"Mrs. Starkweather, I need your help..." As gently as he  
  
could, he told her. "We found a burned body in the river.  
  
He was wearing this." He held up the Ziplock baggie. "Can  
  
you identify this ring for me?"  
  
Starkweather looked at Mulder, looked at Carillo. She took  
  
the Ziplock baggie and took the ring out, saw the initials  
  
carved into it and dropped it. "Oh my God," she cried,  
  
scooping Ben's wedding band off the ground. "NO." She  
  
turned white. "Oh God nooooooooo..."  
  
NO NO NO!!! Sam screamed to himself.  
  
It's too early! They're not supposed to  
  
find the body until three days from  
  
now!!  
  
"Don't worry Mrs. Starkweather," Sommerset tightned the  
  
cuffs on Mulder's wrists. Mulder winced in pain. "We've got  
  
the killer right here."  
  
"What proof!" Sam demanded.  
  
"It's all circumstantial!" Mulder, forgetting his right to  
  
remain silent. "Doggett, get her out of here, call Scully,  
  
call Skinner, get the Gunmen and get me out of this!  
  
Jerilyn, listen to me, this is a setup!"  
  
But Starkweather was glaring at Mulder, a murderous hatred  
  
burning in her eyes for her photographic memory clicked  
  
back on the arguement they had only twenty-four hours  
  
earlier...  
  
"You wanna get back for what I did to your mother... You  
  
set me up because you want to punish me, and you're  
  
dragging Doggett down with me. Look -- this is *OUR* fight.  
  
No need to bring Puppy Man into this."  
  
"I am not going to defend myself to you. Deputy Mayor may I  
  
remind you that this is no longer your office."  
  
Starkweather replied icily... "next time you accuse  
  
someone, Mr. Mulder, it might not be a bad idea to make  
  
sure your finger isn't barking up the wrong *ss."  
  
"If you think I'm done here, you've got another thing  
  
coming." Mulder growled...  
  
"It's a setup alright," Starkweather hissed at Mulder. "YOU  
  
set US up! All of us! Ben, me, Doggett, hell you even used  
  
Scully you sick son of a b*tch!!!" She went after Mulder.  
  
Assuming by her small stature, Carillo and Sommerset  
  
thought she was just going to b*tch-slap Mulder, so they  
  
made no move to stop her. Sam was the only one who really  
  
knew how physically strong she was and he tried to grab  
  
her, but her arm slipped out of his hands. Plus she moved  
  
so fast, she was almost a blur. She swung her fist and  
  
threw a round-house punch like a man. There was a sickening  
  
crunch of breaking bone and cartilege as Mulder's knees  
  
buckled. Sommerset pulled him back up and tried to pull him  
  
away. Mulder kicked at Starkweather as she grabbed him by  
  
the throat and began swearing and squeezing. "Jesus Christ,  
  
get her off of him!!!" Sommerset yelled.  
  
It took both Sam and Carillo to pull Starkweather off.  
  
Mulder, blood oozing out of his nose, gasped out. "You're  
  
making a mistake, Jerilyn! I swear, I didn't kill your  
  
husband!"  
  
"FUCK YOU FOX MULDER!!" She screamed hysterically as Sam  
  
pinned her arms. She lunged, trying to get free of Sam's  
  
grip while she continued to yell. "I'll get you for this, I  
  
swear to God Mulder, you're going to DIE for this and I'm  
  
going to watch!!!!"  
  
As Sommerset lead Mulder away, Mulder continued to yell  
  
out, "Doggett, Doggett, talk some sense into her!!! Get  
  
Scully!!!!"  
  
"Starkweather, c'mon..." Sam pulled Starkweather away.  
  
Carillo tried to stop them. "I need to ask her a few  
  
questions..."  
  
"Hasn't she had enough today?" Sam snapped, "she just found  
  
out her husband's dead....  
  
**********************************  
  
Benjamin Starkweather opened his eyes. He felt his own  
  
blood and sweat crusted on his face. He tried to move his  
  
arms and discovered that they were tied behind his back.  
  
His entire body hurt like hell.  
  
His eyes couldn't adjust to the darkness, then he realized  
  
that he was blindfolded. He did hear the unmistakable sound  
  
of a cigarette lighter. "Who's there!" he yelled out.  
  
"A friend," a smarmy voice informed him. "Mr. Starkweather,  
  
I have some rather unfortunate news for you... your wife is  
  
dead. She was killed, rather unfortunately."  
  
Ben felt his heart drop to his shoes. "What happened?"  
  
"You shouldn't have left her alone in your apartment last  
  
night."  
  
Ben bowed his head. "Oh God..."  
  
"Mr. Starkweather," the man with the cigarette told him,  
  
"I'm about to give you the opportunity of a lifetime. A  
  
chance to avenge the death of your wife."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Come work for me..."  
  
Back to the Future  
  
QL HQ  
  
"Thank God, thank God, thank YOU almighty blessed  
  
God!" Al crowed.  
  
"Um..." Goushie said. "Don't be too thankful... this  
  
is just a temporary fix."  
  
"TEMPORARY???" Al fumed. "Whaddya mean TEMPORARY!!!"  
  
"Well, we've cleaned the virus outta Ziggy, but she's  
  
still got bugs, like Mulder being able to see you and  
  
Starkweather being able to hear you. Plus there's some  
  
other things wrong..."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like we're running on auxillary power. Like... oh... lots  
  
of other little treats the virus left behind. We still  
  
could potentially crash... but, on the flip side... there's  
  
some good news..."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"According to Ziggy, Ben Starkweather doesn't die anymore."  
  
"He doesn't!!" Al crowed joyfully.  
  
"Then why am I still here?" Doggett asked.  
  
"Um... because he's found wandering the street with partial  
  
amnesia... three days after Starkweather is killed and six  
  
days after Mulder is killed."  
  
"Aw... SHIT!!!" Al kicked the wall.  
  
"But more good news is, I don't know what Sam did, but he  
  
bought us some time. Mulder doesn't die tomorrow like he's  
  
supposed but five days from now. That's two more days than  
  
what we had originally."  
  
"Well, la-di-da," Al said snidely as he lit another cigar.  
  
"Do they all think back there that Ben's dead." Doggett  
  
asked.  
  
"Um..." Goushie squirmed. "Yeah..."  
  
Doggett turned to Al. "You promised me to take me to  
  
Starkweather. Take me there, now."  
  
"Al! We can't do that!!" Goushie said. "We're running on  
  
low power, we-" he was silenced by a cutting look from not  
  
just Al, but Doggett too. "Okay... but make it quick..."  
  
**********************************  
  
Ben and Jeri's apartment  
  
9:17 am  
  
Starkweather let herself into the home she shared with Ben.  
  
Not even twelve hours ago, they had made up, made love, and  
  
made a complete fools of eachother with another fight. Now  
  
he was gone.  
  
She had declined Sam-in-Doggett's offer to have him stay  
  
with her for a bit. She stood there, alone in her living  
  
room, looking at the photographs on the wall, their wedding  
  
pictures, her graduation pictures, his graduation  
  
pictures... happier times.  
  
Caesar the Cat meowed once, as if to ask where Ben was and  
  
leaped off the coffee table, knocking over a small box  
  
wrapped in soft pink tissue paper, bound by a silver  
  
ribbon.  
  
"What did you find, kitty?" she asked as she sat on the  
  
couch, reaching for the package. She read on the tiny card  
  
attached:  
  
"To my big bad FBI broad  
  
Love, the Counselor."  
  
Gulping back tears, she tore apart the fragile paper and  
  
opened the box. "Ohhhh..." she exclaimed, her shoulders  
  
slumping as she lifted out a beautiful antique silver  
  
locket. With trembling hands, she opened the locket. Her  
  
mouth began to work as she saw the tiny picture of her  
  
mother holding her when she was a baby, her sweet adoptive  
  
mother who had loved her always and forever just as she  
  
was, never trying to make her something that she wasn't,  
  
who died when she was only sixteen, battling a cancer that  
  
destroyed her mind, her memory, her soul.  
  
She had told Ben the entire story, even how she overheard a  
  
young Fox Mulder badgering her about the possibility of her  
  
being a multiple alien abductee right before she descended  
  
into madness and death. Ben had only commented. "I wish I  
  
could meet her."  
  
Well, now you get too, Ben... Hot tears slid down her  
  
face uncontrollably now and in the still loneliness of her  
  
apartment, Jerilyn curled up into a ball on her sofa and  
  
sobbed like she only did when no one was watching....  
  
Or so she thought.  
  
After explaining the rules to Doggett: "No talking, no  
  
whispering, no nothing, ZIP," Al took Doggett by the hand  
  
and got ready to open the imaging door.  
  
"Hey, Admiral, I know we're getting along better than  
  
before, but I think hand-holding is a little too soon in  
  
our relationship."  
  
"Shut up," Al sighed. "I'm not exactly enjoying this  
  
either, but I've got to hold onto you somewhere or else you  
  
won't be able to see." The door opened. Al re-adjusted,  
  
grabbing Doggett by the shoulder instead of his hand.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
They walked in just as Jerilyn had opened the gift Ben  
  
meant to give her last night but never did. Doggett made a  
  
move towards her, but Al pulled him back, shaking his head  
  
'no'.  
  
They watched as she pulled out a beautiful sterling silver  
  
locket, cut and marked with intricate and antique carvings,  
  
hanging off of a heavy silver chain. Doggett watched  
  
Jerilyn open the locket with shaking hands, watched her  
  
clench it tight with one hand while putting the hand in the  
  
cast to her eyes as a gut-wrenching sob escaped from her.  
  
Al watched Doggett's own eyes tear up as Jerilyn curl up in  
  
the fetal position on her sofa, burying her face in the  
  
sofa cushions.  
  
It hurt both of them to see the diminutive tough little  
  
lady so vulnerable. Doggett reached out to touch her, to  
  
stroke her hair and saw in horror his own hand pass through  
  
her head as if it was smoke. "Doc, you listen to me now," he  
  
said, his gravelly voice shaking. "You hang in there,  
  
everything's gonna be fine, I'm still here, I'm still  
  
watching your back, Doc,-" Suddenly Starkweather and her  
  
apartment were gone and Doggett was in the imagining  
  
chamber again. "What happened??"  
  
"I cut you off," Al snapped. "I told you, no talking...  
  
she'll think she's going insane..."  
  
************************  
  
Meanwhile.....  
  
At the sound of Doggett's voice, Starkweather had bolted  
  
up. She wiped the tears off her face. "Doggett?" she called  
  
out. She got off her couch. "Papa John...." she took a  
  
quivery breath. "I'm losing it." She went over to her phone  
  
and dialled. She got Doggett's voice mail and left a  
  
message. "Papa John... it's me... I'm seriously losing my  
  
grip on things... maybe I shouldn't be by myself, so  
  
whenever you get this message... whenever you get a  
  
chance... come get me... I'd appreciate it," her voice  
  
cracked again before she hung up. "Bye," she whispered.  
  
She went back to her couch. Caesar the cat, very unfeline-  
  
like, came up to his mistress and licked the tears off her  
  
face. "Good kitty," she whimpered while she began to cry  
  
again as she stroked her cat.  
  
Sam was numb. He couldn't believe what had just happened.  
  
Had he changed history by trying to stop Leo? Had he set  
  
things in motion when he chased that car? Had they spotted  
  
him?  
  
"Being angry at Mulder isn't going to help anyone...least  
  
of all Ben." Sam said, not quite knowing what to say,  
  
praying that he would get through to her.  
  
Starkweather's eyes were dry. She couldn't cry. It hadn't  
  
quite hit her yet...if she could be mad at that idiot  
  
Deputy Mayor he wouldn't be *DEAD*. Her anger towards  
  
Mulder was emotional energy she didn't have to spend on  
  
getting past the numbness of the news she just received.  
  
"Ben doesn't need my help anymore, Doggett." She said  
  
icily. Then, in a voice that wasn't hers, she finished,  
  
"He's gone, and so am I." She locked eyes with Sam for a  
  
moment--he saw a familiar combination of Mulder and  
  
confusion--then turned on her heel, and marched out,  
  
slamming the door behind her.  
  
Sam didn't want to leave her alone, but knew that she would  
  
probably shut him out if he offered her his company. He  
  
wondered if she even heard what she just said to him.  
  
"Skinner?" Sam said, trying to keep his voice as steady as  
  
possible.  
  
"It's Doggett, Sir." Failing his attempt to keep his  
  
professional tone.  
  
"You alright, John?"  
  
"You haven't heard yet?"  
  
"Haven't heard what? Had a midnight flight back from New  
  
York State, overslept, and I just got into my office this  
  
morning, haven't even had a chance to check the newspaper."  
  
"You won't have to check the newspapers...I'll tell you  
  
what's on the front page right now...the main headline is  
  
Deputy Mayor of DC Arrested for Murder."  
  
There was a beat of silence.  
  
"They found blood in his car, and a wallet." Sam reported,  
  
still disbelieving.  
  
"Belonging to whom." Skinner finally managed to croak out.  
  
"Ben Starkweather."  
  
"That little shit deserved it." Skinner growled under his  
  
breath. "How can they arre--"  
  
Sam was way ahead of him. "They've got kids who can testify  
  
a body was dumped into the Patomac from a car matching the  
  
description of Mulder's within a reasonable time frame from  
  
when the blood was left in the trunk."  
  
"Since when do they trust the testimony of punk kids?"  
  
Skinner growled under his breath, "How's Starkweather  
  
holding up?"  
  
"She's still in shock." So am I "Mulder came down  
  
here...I think to make sure she was alright...and that's  
  
when they arrested him. She punched him in the jaw calling  
  
him every name in the book."  
  
"Doggett, I'll get Kimberly to cancel my morning  
  
appointments. I want you up here so we can go over the  
  
evidence, and when forensics is through, I want Scully up  
  
here. We are going through everything with a fine-toothed  
  
comb."  
  
The elevator ride up to Skinner's office seemed to last an  
  
eternity. He couldn't understand why this was happening  
  
*now*...*then*...or whenever it happened to be...time  
  
references are all screwed up for time travelers. He didn't  
  
wait for Kimberly to announce his presence. She was too  
  
busy on the phone, trying to smooth over broken  
  
commitments.  
  
"Maybe this all wouldn't have happened if I hadn't hired  
  
Starkweather." Skinner muttered as soon as Sam closed the  
  
door.  
  
"Playing what-if games isn't going to help any of us, Sir."  
  
Sam said, taking a seat in front of Skinner's desk. "She's  
  
proven to be an assett to my division. She was willing to  
  
risk her home life for both Mulder and me, and I think she  
  
would have had this not happened. I'm afraid *I* am the one  
  
to blame for that."  
  
"What the hell gave you that idea?" Skinner demanded.  
  
"I did some checking," Sam began cautiously, "and an  
  
attorney named Justin Leo seemed to have the only solid  
  
connection to his case. I went to his residence for  
  
questioning, and found substantial evidence that lead me to  
  
believe he was planning to murder someone. I tied him up  
  
for prevention. On my way home, I happened upon the same  
  
dark four-door sedan I saw at the warehouse dumping a body  
  
in the Patomac. They might have seen me without my  
  
knowledge."  
  
"Doggett, that's a lead...it *doesn't* make you responsible  
  
for Mulder's arrest. If anything, that may redeem him.  
  
There's gotta be something in here. I am not going to sit  
  
idly by and watch him be destroyed. Not again."  
  
"I happen to know Ben isn't dead." Al's voice came from  
  
behind him  
  
Sam spun around in his chair.  
  
"What do you mean he isn't dead?!" Sam hissed.  
  
"What do you mean *who* isn't dead...Doggett...I know  
  
you've been under a helluva lot of stress lately..."  
  
"Ben...Ben Starkweather isn't dead yet." Sam answered  
  
flatly.  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I can't tell you yet." Sam said plainly.  
  
"Christ, John, I expect the runaround from Mulder, but not  
  
from you." Skinner snapped back.  
  
"Jeri's finally starting to loose it, Sam. The whole  
  
situation finally dawned on her. I'm gonna go keep an eye  
  
on Dana while you guys are busy with this." Al reported  
  
"You think the DD is on it?" Skinner asked quietly.  
  
"It's hard to say, Sir." Sam said, cautious of who might be  
  
listening.  
  
Just then, Kimberly popped her head in. "Sir, I didn't want  
  
to interrupt, but I couldn't cancel your 11 meeting. It's  
  
with the Deputy Director."  
  
"Thanks." Then turning to Doggett, "Check back with me if  
  
you find anything. That'll be all, Agent." Skinner said  
  
crisply, and Sam took his leave.  
  
Sam didn't know Starkweather that well...he wanted to be  
  
there for her. He was about to head down to his office and  
  
get his coat to leave when he found Starkweather's message  
  
on Doggett's e-mail. He knew Al was with Scully at the  
  
moment, so she wasn't completely alone. He felt better  
  
about that.  
  
"I can't BELIEVE those DICKS suspected me for two fucking  
  
minutes, Doggett." She hissed incredulously. Her eyes were  
  
dry but puffy and red still.  
  
"Well, speaking from experience here, sometimes our job  
  
means pulling at whatever straws are there." Lord knows he  
  
had to do that enough times as a time-traveler.  
  
"We made up." She admitted softly. "We made up when I came  
  
home last night, and then...afterwards...he got a call from  
  
some chick with a breathy Russian accent. I know, because I  
  
picked up the extension in the bedroom. I went out to  
  
confront him about it, telling him I wouldn't let him go by  
  
himself; then the fucker used a helluva stall tactic...he  
  
actually told me some cockshit theory about that fucker who  
  
killed him and me being related. Then," her lips began to  
  
quiver now, "I let him go." Then her body started to quake  
  
with sobs again, and Sam didn't resist the impulse this  
  
time to pull her close to him, letting her go.  
  
"Just let it go, Jerilyn..."  
  
"Goddammit..." she said, shouting now, "the worst part  
  
about this whole fucking thing is that I was going to get  
  
out of the x-files after this case. He didn't want me to be  
  
in the FBI because he didn't want me to die on the job...I  
  
didn't think for one minute that I would be the one to  
  
outlive him."  
  
"I know...I know..." Sam said softly. He wanted more than  
  
anything to tell her he wasn't dead yet, but knew she just  
  
needed him to be solid and strong. Bringing someone back  
  
from the grave isn't exactly the best way to show someone  
  
you're stable.  
  
He stayed with her for a few more hours until she sobbed  
  
herself to sleep, just letting her cry.  
  
He decided to check on her again in a few hours, but now,  
  
he needed to go over to Scully's. He needed her  
  
professional opinion as much as he needed to know she was  
  
alright.  
  
Scully didn't look as though she had spent any fresh tears  
  
at all when Sam came to her door. Al was still waiting for  
  
him there.  
  
"You look like hell, Sam." Al commented.  
  
"Just help yourself to some coffee, Doggett," Scully was  
  
saying, picking Will up from his high-chair. "Take a seat  
  
on the couch for a sec, I gotta put Will down for his nap."  
  
"How did Ziggy find out that Ben's not dead?"  
  
"I dunno, Sam, you musta changed history somehow, because  
  
the police reports change. Somehow, the body dumped in the  
  
river was discovered not to be Ben's."  
  
"I tied up Leo, Al. He looked like he was getting ready to  
  
do something, and I tied him up. I interviewed some kids,  
  
and they said they saw the same sedan that we saw in the  
  
warehouse drive up to Leo's house, and then on my way home,  
  
I saw the sedan dump a body into the river."  
  
"So all we gotta do is find out where Ben is, and we're  
  
homefree!" Al exclaimed, tapping a few keys on the  
  
handlink. "I think Scully's coming, since we've got bugs in  
  
the system still, I better vamoos. Be careful."  
  
"How's Starkweather handling all of this?" Scully asked as  
  
she came through the hall. She had a look of complete  
  
confusion on her face. "I think I need to talk to more  
  
adults besides Mulder...I'm hearing voices..."  
  
"Starkweather's as well as to be suspected." Sam said  
  
releasing a heavy sigh as he handed her the photocopies. "I  
  
brought you the police reports, thought you might wanna  
  
look them over."  
  
"I want to do the autopsy on the body they found." Scully  
  
said, perusing the papers.  
  
"90 % of the body is burned, Scully."  
  
"I know...I still want to do the autopsy." She persisted.  
  
"The coroner has already performed the official  
  
autopsy...there's nothing we can do about that at this  
  
point."  
  
"Don't give me that, Doggett. We've gotta do something. I  
  
can't put "my finger on it, but something about this report  
  
doesn't mesh."  
  
"We'll find it, then we can go after the people who did  
  
this."  
  
"Doggett...I hate to bring this up in your face," Scully  
  
said coldly, "but the last time you said something like  
  
that was not long before Mulder's funeral. Don't make me  
  
promises you d*mn well know you can't keep." She looked  
  
around, wishing she had a glass of water to splash in his  
  
face.  
  
"Scully, I--" Sam said in a pained tone, but didn't know  
  
how else to finish to make her believe he fully intended to  
  
keep that promise.  
  
"I'm sorry. Doggett..." She apologized, "I didn't mean  
  
that...I just..."  
  
"Yes, you did." Sam said plainly. "Just what?"  
  
"Just forget it, alright..." She proceeded to pick up baby  
  
toys that were lying in the floor.  
  
"No, look..it's ok...I know you're angry...so am I. Finish  
  
what you started."  
  
Scully couldn't even face Doggett. "I can't let him down  
  
again." She pretended to be cleaning the kitchen as she  
  
spoke.  
  
"What do you mean, 'let him down'?"  
  
"I let Mulder down once, and it cost him his life...if it  
  
wasn't for Will being on the way, I think it would have  
  
destroyed me. I don't know what would happen if I watched  
  
him be destroyed again. I'm worried for Will."  
  
"I know, but I can't help but see that there's something  
  
else more at stake here." He wasn't lying. Sam knew there  
  
was a lot more at stake with Mulder's arrest.  
  
"Doggett...you don't understand..."  
  
"You're right...I don't...enlighten me."  
  
"Mulder is one of the most aggravating people I've ever  
  
met."  
  
"I know..."  
  
"He is a jack-ass about 60% of the time."  
  
"That's not exactly what I'd call an enlightened  
  
statement." Sam said wryly.  
  
Scully smiled sheepishly. "I joined the x-files office  
  
eight years ago not really sure what to expect of "Spooky"  
  
Mulder. I spent the greater part of my eight years with him  
  
making a point of proving him wrong. Somewhere along the  
  
way, between the freaks of nature and aliens and things  
  
that go bump in the night, I realized that his quest had  
  
become mine...and if we found the truth, that's all I  
  
needed to make my life meaningful." She  
  
hesitated and let out a ragged sigh, "Then he gave me  
  
Will...something I never in my wildest dreams thought I  
  
could have...and meaning and fulfillment I never thought  
  
possible." She buried her face in her hands, and her body  
  
finally started to allow her to sob. "God, Doggett...I  
  
don't know what I'm gonna do if he looses his freedom. I  
  
don't want Will to grow up without his Dad."  
  
"You will keep plugging away at the Truth he started," Sam  
  
began cautiously, placing an assuring hand on her shoulder.  
  
"But I don't think that'll be necessary. I've got lots of  
  
outside help working around the clock on this. I *am*  
  
keeping this promise to you, Scully. I'm going to do all I  
  
can to make sure nothing happens to him. So are a lot of  
  
other people." With that, he decided to take his leave and  
  
check on Starkweather.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
back at the warehouse...  
  
"Work for you?" Ben was completely confused. "Work how?"  
  
"There are governmental forces at hand working on a grand  
  
scale conspiracy. Your wife unwittingly played a small part  
  
in it and was eliminated for her efforts."  
  
"The phone call... the note..." Ben said slowly. "It was  
  
all a ruse to get me out of the house last night, wasn't  
  
it?"  
  
"I'm afraid so. Mr. Starkweather," CSM placed a cigarette  
  
in Ben's mouth and lit it. Ben inhaled gratefully. CSM took  
  
the cigarette out of his mouth and Ben exhaled, blowing  
  
great plumes of smoke. "I am a powerful man. I can stop  
  
what our government is doing."  
  
"What are they doing?"  
  
"Killing people who get in their way. People like your  
  
wife."  
  
"What was she doing that she had to be killed?" Ben felt  
  
his heart being torn to shreds.  
  
"She went to work for the X-Files," CSM said gently,  
  
puffing on the cigarette he lit for Ben.  
  
Ben hung his head. "I don't believe you," he admitted  
  
slowly.  
  
"Understandable. But let me tell you this, the people who  
  
killed your wife are coming after you. We had to stage your  
  
little kidnapping to throw dust in their eyes. You'll  
  
accept my apologies, won't you?"  
  
"Kind of hard to accept your apology while I'm still tied  
  
up like a prisoner."  
  
"Of course," CSM took off the blindfold. "Your feet aren't  
  
bound, follow me." Ben, followed the Cancer Man towards a  
  
fairly large, unused restroom. CSM turned on the light,  
  
nearly blinding him. Ben saw a small cot, a smaller table  
  
with a pitcher of water, a glass, a pack of cigarettes,  
  
matches and a plate of sandwiches and fruit. There was a  
  
grimey toilet in the corner and a rusted out sink.  
  
"I do apologize for the accommodations, CSM said. "But you  
  
need to stay here for a while for your own safety until we  
  
deal with the men who murdered your wife." He gently pushed  
  
Ben inside.  
  
"How do I even know you're telling me the truth about  
  
Jerilyn?" he demanded as the CSM untied his hands.  
  
"I'll bring you proof then," CSM said before hitting him  
  
hard o the back of his head, knocking him unconscious.  
  
He left Ben's new cell and shut the door tight, locking it.  
  
He turned to Covarubias who had been watching the entire  
  
time, holding a loaded gun. "Keeping alive is dangerous,"  
  
she seethed.  
  
He glared at her. "He has information about the oil rig,  
  
information we need. Plus, if he decides to join us... he  
  
could be useful. The Admiral said he was a bright boy. And  
  
if not... we'll dispose of him once Mulder and Starkweather  
  
are eliminated." He approached Covarubias and took her gun  
  
away from her. Cupping her narrow chin in his free hand, he  
  
said, "You and Krycek should have never tried to trifle  
  
with me. Krycek paid the ultimate price... you... have a  
  
chance to redeem yourself." He walked away, saying "No one  
  
touches Ben Starkweather without my express permission."  
  
Marita Covarubias glared at him, hatred simmering in her  
  
blue eyes.  
  
DC Jail  
  
11:24am  
  
Mulder was beyond pissed about the whole situation. He  
  
couldn't end it all here. Too many people had risked their  
  
careers...lives...for him to end it all here.  
  
He was rotting in jail for something he knew he didn't do,  
  
and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. There  
  
wasn't even a trashcan to kick around this time, so he had  
  
to make do with his pillow.  
  
"I wouldn't do that if I was you. You might want it later,  
  
and they won't getchya a extra."  
  
"I'll, keep that in mind." He said, not even looking at who  
  
had spoken to him, accentuating each word with an emphatic  
  
punch, and keeping it up until there was nothing left of  
  
the pillow but shreds.  
  
"Jesus Christ, hombre, who you got in there?"  
  
"Aliens." He said simply with a sloppy grin on his face,  
  
waiting for his reaction. For the first time, he saw his  
  
cell mate. He was a short, scrappy man with caramel skin.  
  
"And you a regular criminal? Keep talking like that, and  
  
they'll give you a single, keep ya all drugged up. I been  
  
here two weeks now, I think. They're needle happy in this  
  
joint." The man said, climbing down from his top bunk and  
  
taking a sip from the fountain.  
  
"Thanks for the tip...whatchya in for?"  
  
"Illegal alien." He extended a finger-tipless gloved hand  
  
in greeting. "Manny Ibarra. You?"  
  
"Fox Mulder...murder one." he answered, hesitantly taking  
  
the handshake.  
  
"I don't understand what you're still doing in the county  
  
jail then, they shouldda put you in the state penn."  
  
"They're going to as soon as my trial is over with. I'm  
  
waiting for a judge to set bail later on today."  
  
"All I gotta say is, I'm glad I'm not that pillow."  
  
"Don't worry Manny, the pillow was a different kind of  
  
alien. You've got nothing to worry about."  
  
"So you were pretending that was a Canuck?"  
  
"Uh-uh..." Mulder said, shaking his head, "a little gray  
  
man."  
  
"GAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!" Manny  
  
shouted at the top of his lungs.  
  
The warehouse  
  
11:42 am  
  
Ben slowly came too. His head hurt like hell. With a groan,  
  
he forced himself to stand up but was hit with a bout of  
  
vertigo so he sat down on the rickety cot.  
  
Dizzy, he tried to make some sort of sense of what was  
  
going on. He was being held prisoner... but the strange man  
  
with the cigarettes told him it was for his own protection.  
  
Jerilyn was dead. He had followed a lead, but it was a  
  
trick to get him out of the house. Jerilyn had told him,  
  
begged him not to go, but she was worried about his safety,  
  
not hers. Jerilyn was dead. She never worried about her  
  
life. Ben sometimes wondered if she thought she was  
  
immortal. She had given him her gun, but he never got a  
  
chance to use it for the kidnapping happened so brutally  
  
fast. Jerilyn was dead, was dead, was dead, was...  
  
"NO," he said aloud. "I don't believe it... I won't believe  
  
it... if I believe it... I will go f*cking insane... she  
  
CAN'T be dead... she's too mean to be dead..." he ran his  
  
dirty fingers through his head and tried to breath, tried  
  
to calm down.  
  
Something wasn't adding up right. His instincts were  
  
telling him not to trust the Smoking Man. He tried to piece  
  
together was Jerilyn was trying to tell him after the third  
  
epic war they fought after he dropped the bombshell on  
  
Skinner that he was ordering the release of the oil rig X-  
  
File into public domain.  
  
"Think, Ben, think..." he muttered to himself. But he  
  
couldn't. His body was in one giant knot of stress and  
  
pain. He felt nauseous. With shaking hands he reached for  
  
the cigarettes and matches the Smoking Man had so  
  
thoughtfully left for him. But one drag only added to the  
  
sickening feeling in his stomach so he threw the cigarette  
  
in the sink and hauled himself to the toilet where he was  
  
wretchedly ill.  
  
Clinging to the porcelain god, he threw up until there was  
  
nothing but dry-heaves. He slumped to the floor and leaned  
  
against the wall.  
  
One thing he knew for sure... he was a dead man the longer  
  
he stayed.  
  
"Oh Christ..." he groaned. Then, in complete frustration  
  
and heartache he yelled aloud "THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!!!!"  
  
He covered his face and spoke to himself. "Jerilyn... when  
  
I see you again... you're going to give me the biggest 'I  
  
told you so' in the world, aren't you..." He crawled back  
  
up on the cot while repeating a mantra to himself: "She's  
  
not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead, she's not  
  
dead..."  
  
It was the only thing he could think of to do to stave off  
  
madness....  
  
***************************  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Ben and Jeri's apartment  
  
Jerilyn woke up with a start, heart pounding in her chest,  
  
covered with sweat. Shivering, despite the heat, she pulled  
  
the afaghan quilt around her. Maybe I'm having a bad  
  
dream she thought even though she knew she was only lying  
  
to herself.  
  
She stared at the phone, knowing that she should probably  
  
call Luke and Linda Starkweather, Ben's parents, with the  
  
bad news. But she only stared at the phone, not being able  
  
to bring herself to do it. The longer she put off calling  
  
her in-laws, the longer their son was alive for them.  
  
And he's dead because of me... Jerilyn could not stop  
  
beating herself up, could not shed herself of the guilt  
  
that lay so heavy in her heart. If I had only followed my  
  
gut, if I had only gone with... if I had not been so damn  
  
ambitious and jumped the gun to come out to DC with the  
  
first job offer from the FBI... if I had waited until  
  
something would have come open at Quantico...  
  
But even in her guilt, she knew she wasn't going to quit  
  
the X-Files. Not now.  
  
If Samantha had been Mulder's quest, then Ben was going to  
  
be hers.  
  
Mulder... Starkweather's eyes narrowed into catlike slits  
  
when she even thought of his name. "I'm going to watch him  
  
BURN for this..." she promised herself aloud.  
  
But, because she was always coldly, brutally honest with  
  
herself, her alter-ego asked her bruised and hurting ego:  
  
Do you REALLY think Mulder did it?  
  
"All the evidence points to him." she said aloud as she  
  
thought: It's all circumstantial and you know that.  
  
"He's capable of murder, he's killed people before," she  
  
sneered aloud to herself.  
  
So have you, in the line of duty, like he has her  
  
common sense reminded her.  
  
"I fucking hate him," she said bitterly, staring with  
  
teary-eyes at her wedding ring.  
  
Then hate him for something that he DID do Still, her  
  
reason tried to overpower her emotions.  
  
"Why the hell shouldn't I believe that he did it?" her  
  
heart cried out.  
  
Would Scully stay with him so long if he was that kind of  
  
a man?  
  
That got her. As much as she loathed Mulder, she admired  
  
Scully. Scully was no fool. Scully didn't knuckle  
  
underneath anybody.  
  
Okay, Starkweather she told herself as she started to  
  
build up walls around her broken heart. Stop thinking  
  
like a pathetic widow and start thinking like a goddamn FBI  
  
agent. Get the evidence, separate fact from fiction, logic  
  
from emotion. Get your poop in a group and get to work. If  
  
Mulder is innocent, fine. If he's not, fry him. But get the  
  
facts straight first. And first things first, get inside  
  
Mulder's head.  
  
Although her expertise in the X-Files was forensics, she  
  
knew she was being groomed to take over for Scully when  
  
Scully was ready to leave, she also had experience as a  
  
profiler. The X-Files gave her freedom to explore her  
  
profiling skills and she had to admit, she was getting  
  
pretty good at it. She went to the phone but she did not  
  
call Ben's parents. She called Skinner's secretary.  
  
"Kimberly, hi, this is Agent Starkweather," Starkweather  
  
listened to Kimberly offer her condolences. "Actually, yes,  
  
there is something you can do. I need every scrape of  
  
information on Fox Mulder, from when he was an acne-ridden  
  
teenager in high school up to present day... yes, I said  
  
everything... and compress it into a ZIP file and email it  
  
to me at home. Skinner will give you clearance. Tell him  
  
I'm playing profiler-for-a-day and I'm trying to figure out  
  
what the fuck is really going on. Thanks."  
  
Two hours later, Starkweather was deep into the files of  
  
Fox Mulder's life history, up to the point of his  
  
transcripts from Oxford when there was a knock on her door.  
  
She got up and let Sam in.  
  
Sam followed Starkweather into the spare bedroom that she  
  
and Ben had converted into an office. "How are you doing,  
  
Starkweather?" Sam asked cautiously as she sat down in  
  
front of the computer.  
  
"I've had better days," she said grimly.  
  
"Yeah... well..." Sam said awkwardly. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Going through Mulder's records." She said, gnawing on a  
  
pen cap. "I've been trying to get inside of Mulder's  
  
head..."  
  
"How's the view?"  
  
"Scary." Starkweather let out a big sigh. "He is one  
  
paranoid mo-fo."  
  
Sam chuckled. "That's one way of putting it." Carefully, he  
  
asked, "But do you think he's a killer?"  
  
Starkweather rubbed her eyes and propped her chin in her  
  
hands, "He is capable of murder... but that doesn't jive  
  
with the profile I'm getting from him... Mulder is very  
  
paranoid... especially about our fine government... he's  
  
almost an anarchist... the only thing that keeps him  
  
grounded is his thrist for the truth. Mulder isn't the type  
  
of guy who sweeps things under the rug to save his own  
  
ass... I don't... god, what I put together... he just  
  
WOULDN'T do this... he wouldn't... dammit!!" she pounded  
  
the desk with both fists. "All the evidence points to  
  
him... but..."  
  
Sam put his hands on her shoulders, "You don't want to  
  
believe..."  
  
Starkweather said "Look... Doggett, you were a cop before  
  
all of this... would you have slapped the cuffs on the  
  
Deputy Mayor on circumstantial evidence? We've got the word  
  
of some junkie kids and second-rate car thieves... the  
  
thieves who changed their stories from a cigarette smoking  
  
man hiring them to kill him to the Deputy Mayor. Something  
  
stinks in Denmark..."  
  
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "You think Mulder is  
  
innocent then."  
  
Starkweather sighed, but it was a sigh of resignation.  
  
"Well, he's NOT an innocent man... but I think he's  
  
innocent of this... I'm beginning to think Mulder just  
  
pisses people off wherever he goes... myself included...  
  
Doggett... I think I'm getting as paranoid as Mulder... I'm  
  
beginning to think there's something way way bigger going  
  
on... and that we're all just getting used..."  
  
"Based on...?"  
  
Starkweather groaned. "That's the problem. It's based on my  
  
sad profile on Mulder. I have nothing else."  
  
"It's something." Sam turned Starkweather around in her  
  
desk chair. He stared down intently at her, holding her  
  
hands. "So will you help us clear Mulder's name?"  
  
"I will help as my conscience dictates," Starkweather said  
  
slowly. "If my work clears Mulder's name, fine. Great,  
  
wonderful. Peachy-keen. If not... I'm bringing him down."  
  
"Fair enough..." Sam said, kneeling down. "It's the least  
  
you could do. I mean..." Sam couldn't help but smile wryly.  
  
"You broke the man's nose."  
  
Now Starkweather couldn't help but smile. "Ben always said  
  
I was going to hurt someone with my temper someday..." she  
  
took one of her hands out of Sam's to cover her mouth. She  
  
squeezed her eyes shut.  
  
"Aw, honey..." Sam said, clasping her hand in the cast with  
  
both of his hands.  
  
"Don't get sappy," she said in a shaking voice. "I'm trying  
  
not to be."  
  
"Starkweather," Sam said softly. "You don't have to be so  
  
tough all the time."  
  
"Yes I do," her voice cracked. "It's all I have left now...  
  
just being a..." she started to sniffle "... a big, bad FBI  
  
broad... oh Christ..." she whimpered. "I don't even have  
  
the balls to call his parents to tell them the news... and  
  
Ben always thought that I was so strong... Jesus... what a  
  
joke..."  
  
"Starkweather, you just hang in there. I promise you," Sam  
  
said, "I'm going to make this right..."  
  
Starkweather pulled herself together. "I need coffee. Do  
  
you want some?"  
  
"Sure." Sam said as Starkweather pulled herself away from  
  
him and left the room. He then noticed a fat, orange lap  
  
cat crawl out from underneath the desk. "Hi kitty," he said  
  
affably.  
  
Caesar spat and hissed at him before streaking out of the  
  
room.  
  
"That's why I'm a dog person." Sam mumbled as he went to  
  
the kitchen and sat at the tiny little table.  
  
Starkweather started to brew coffee. She opened the fridge.  
  
"Um... I'd offer you food, but looks like we don't have  
  
any."  
  
"It's okay," Sam said, momentarily puzzled by her sudden  
  
Dorothy-Domestic hospitality mode. Then he realized she was  
  
trying to keep busy, to keep her mind off of her sorrow.  
  
But Ben isn't dead!!! he wanted to scream at her, hold  
  
her tight, smooth her pretty hair, tell her everything was  
  
going to be alright... that he would never forget her, no  
  
matter how Swiss-cheesed his memory may become in future  
  
leaps. But all he said was "Do you want me to call Ben's  
  
parents?"  
  
She was quiet for a moment. "No..." she said slowly. "No...  
  
I need to be a big girl and do it myself." She opened the  
  
cupboards and grabbed a can of Nine Lives cat food. As she  
  
opened the can, she called out. "Caesar!! Here  
  
kittykittykittykittykittykittykittykitty!!"  
  
Caesar stole into the kitchen and wound himself around her  
  
legs. She dumped the cat food in his dish and he dove in  
  
with relish.  
  
Sam said, apropos of nothing, "Your cat hates me."  
  
"My cat hates everybody." Starkweather poured coffee into  
  
two mugs, dumped heaps of sugar into one for her, but  
  
served Sam's to him black. Sam was about to object but shut  
  
his mouth in time to realize that Doggett probably wasn't  
  
the cream-and-sugar type.  
  
"Thanks," he said.  
  
"Actually," she said, her tone growing softer, "Caesar was  
  
my engagement ring. I've always loved cats, always had at  
  
least one or two of them around the house when I was  
  
growing up. Being a military brat, my pets were my  
  
security, my sense of familiarity. Of home. I was really  
  
bummed when I left for the Air Force because I lived on  
  
base the entire time I was Active and so... no pets. When I  
  
went Guard, I was commuting from Iowa City, where I was  
  
doing Med School at UNI, to the 132nd in Des Moines, where  
  
I met Ben. When things got serious, he asked me what kind  
  
of a ring I would like. I knew that he was broke... going  
  
to law school at Drake and all... I told him to save his  
  
money and we'd get a ring when we'd get on our feet.  
  
Well... Ben got a hold of my dad and asked him permission  
  
to marry me... and in lieu of a ring... what should I get  
  
her instead? Dad told him a cat. So Ben went to the animal  
  
shelter and adopted Caesar. Because my apartment didn't  
  
allow pets, Caesar lived with Ben until I finished Med  
  
School and moved in with Ben in Des Moines. Once I was in  
  
with Ben and helping him out with bills, he scraped up  
  
enough money to get me this..." She looked at her simple  
  
diamond solitaire with bright eyes, but did not weep. "I  
  
have a wedding band... but I don't wear it and we never had  
  
the money to get it soldered onto my engagement ring..."  
  
Starkweather continued, confiding as she only would to a  
  
best friend, which Sam realized, with confusing sensations  
  
of jealousy, is how she viewed Doggett. he mused as he  
  
listened to her.  
  
"Do you know how shitty I feel right now? Four nights ago,  
  
I was at your house, talking about drawing up divorce  
  
papers and now he's gone. Forever... I can't... if..." she  
  
gulped, "the body is as badly burned as the cops say it is,  
  
it's going to have to be closed-casket... I won't ever see  
  
him again..."  
  
Sam said firmly, "Starkweather, you can not start blaming  
  
yourself for this."  
  
"Doggett," she insisted. "You don't understand. Four nights  
  
ago... hell... LAST NIGHT... I would have paid money to get  
  
Ben out of my life... I was TIRED of being married. I was  
  
tired of having to justify my actions to him. Tired of  
  
being pressured to settle down, plunk out a couple of kids,  
  
get the house in Suburbia with the rose bushes and the  
  
white picket fence. We were ALWAYS fighting. And not just  
  
about me in the FBI and that damn case... but everything.  
  
We fought about everything. About settling down. About  
  
money. I used up my GI Bill by the time I got to med  
  
school, so I'm struggling with those payments plus I'm  
  
still paying for my training at Quantico. Plus Ben and I  
  
racked up a pretty heavy duty credit card debt when we were  
  
planning our wedding.. to the tune of over three-grand."  
  
Sam whistled. She went on, "Yeah. So we've got that. Plus  
  
Ben's paying off law school and then there's the whole cost  
  
of living thing... as good hearted Ben is... was... don't  
  
kid yourself Doggett. He took the case because of the  
  
money. He was going to make over a $100 per hour."  
  
"Wow... I am in the wrong business."  
  
"You and me both, brother," Starkweather said. "But there  
  
were just other things too... stupid sh*t like... well,  
  
he's SUCH a slob. I come home after a long ass day and the  
  
apartment's trashed out... plus he would make plans and  
  
just assume that I would want to come with. Not ask me,  
  
just say "Oh, Jeri by the way, I told so-and-so that we'd  
  
meet them for dinner..." and I wouldn't want to go and he'd  
  
get mad and... god...I wish I could just pinpoint where  
  
things went wrong and go back in time and fix  
  
everything..."  
  
"That might be possible someday," Sam said gently.  
  
Starkweather sniffed. "If I could go back in time... I  
  
probably wouldn't have married Ben and he'd still be alive.  
  
I love him but I shouldn't have married him... that would  
  
have fix everything."  
  
"Starkweather, beating yourself up is not going to solve  
  
this." Sam told her gently. "Guilt is not an effective tool  
  
in crime-solving."  
  
"But it sure is a powerful motivator. I owe Ben at least  
  
this. I denied him everything else. Kids, family life...  
  
hell, I knew he's been miserable here in DC ever since we  
  
moved here. He would have been so much happier if we stayed  
  
in Minneapolis near his family but... he put my happiness  
  
in front of his... look what it got him." She looked up to  
  
her ceiling and yelled, "BEN, YOU DUMB SH*T!!!" She looked  
  
back at Sam. "You know what the sick thing is though?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Starkweather shook her head, "If, by some miracle, Ben  
  
walked through those doors... nothing would change. I'd  
  
still be off being the 'big bad FBI broad' and Ben would  
  
still resent me for it." She put her elbow on the table and  
  
rested her forehead against her palm. "I wish I could say  
  
that I would change my sinful ways and everything with me  
  
and Ben would be bright and sunny and we'd skip off into  
  
the sunset together... but that would be a lie. I know me  
  
too well." She dropped her hand into her lap and stared at  
  
Sam with her big hazel doe-eyes. "Terrible, isn't it?"  
  
"No," Sam assured her. "It's very honest. Most people have  
  
a hard time being truthful with themselves, especially  
  
about their faults and failings. The key is whether or not  
  
you want to work on your..." he scrambled for the right  
  
words "lack of desire to be a tradional wife for Ben."  
  
Now the doe-eyes became feline again, eyeing Sam warily.  
  
"Doggett, you're talking as if Ben's still alive..."  
  
Sam groaned, realizing his slip up. "Well..." he said  
  
carefully. "We all thought Mulder is dead."  
  
Starkweather glared at him. "Earth to Doggett, come in  
  
Doggett. We've got the body. It was showing no vitals  
  
whatsoever." She bowed her head. "Don't give me false hope,  
  
this is hard enough as is."  
  
The phone rang. Starkweather got up to answer, "Hello?....  
  
oh.... crap... I totally forget... Can I reschedule?  
  
I've... I've had a death in the family, I just... no, on  
  
second thought, I don't want to reschedule. I'll be there  
  
as soon as possible. Thank you." She hung up. "I've got to  
  
go. I completely forgot I had my doctor's appointment to  
  
get this thing-" she raised her wrist that was in a cast  
  
"off of me."  
  
But during Starkweather's phone conversation, Sam was hit  
  
by a brainstorm. "Scully!" he said aloud.  
  
"What?"  
  
"After you get your cast off, come over to Scully's place."  
  
Starkweather hesitated. "That might not be a good idea...  
  
like you said... I just broke Mulder's nose this  
  
morning..."  
  
"You know, Scully once shot Mulder in the left shoulder?"  
  
Sam said.  
  
"Really?" Starkweather couldn't help but grin a little.  
  
"Cool."  
  
"So I think she'll understand or at least forgive." Sam got  
  
up to leave. "Just come over to Scully's as soon as you're  
  
done at the hospital. I just had an idea that may shed some  
  
light on everything."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'll tell you when you get there," Sam insisted. "I've got  
  
to talk to Scully first."  
  
"Tell her I'm really sorry about punching him out, but at  
  
least I didn't shoot him."  
  
"I will," Sam went to the door.  
  
"Hey, Papa John?"  
  
Sam turned at the sound of Doggett's pet name. "Yeah?"  
  
She had the ghost of a smile on her pale lips. "Thanks for  
  
sticking with me on this."  
  
Sam came back and hugged her. Since Starkweather has had  
  
very minimal physical contact with Doggett, she was taken  
  
aback by Sam's expansiveness. "Whoa... down, boy," she  
  
said.  
  
"Sorry," he said, breaking away, but smoothing a strand of  
  
hair out of her face. "It just looked like you need that."  
  
Even in the pits of absolute misery, Starkweather's sarcasm  
  
always bubbled forth. "Awww... Doggett... have you been  
  
listening to those Male Sensitivity 101 tapes again?"  
  
Sam smiled. "Something like that. Meet me at Scully's?" She  
  
nodded and said okay. With that, Sam left, promising  
  
himself he was going to bring Ben back to her. Even though  
  
it was going to break everyone's heart, including his own.  
  
  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Autopsy Room Two  
  
Quantico, VA  
  
Scully, donned in surgical greens, pulled down the  
  
microphone. "The subject is Benjamin Lucas Starkweather,  
  
white, thirty-one year old male... on topical examination,  
  
it appears that Mr. Starkweather died due to third-degree  
  
burns covering 90 percent of the subjects body... also on  
  
topical examination, there is also evidence of tissue  
  
damage due to being submerged underwater for a short period  
  
of time... however I will conduct a full autopsy to either  
  
confirm or disprove my initial theory on cause of death. I  
  
am starting the autopsy with the head and throat... looking  
  
for possible foul play. Strangulation. Possible poisoning  
  
prior to death. " Scully got her scalpel and poised over  
  
the body's face. She paused, looked sadly at the remains.  
  
Remains... a woman's husband reduced to remains  
  
Al breezed through the chamber door, and began barking  
  
orders, oblivious to the fact that the project computer  
  
specialist was doing a delicate balancing act with a mother  
  
board and a toolbox.  
  
"Goushie! I want anything you can get...job and med  
  
history, grocery lists, favorite TV shows, favorite  
  
Backstreet Boy on somebody named Justin Leo, SSN 138-99-  
  
2568 PRONTO! We had a major situation back there.  
  
Verbeena," he said, turning to a very ragged Project  
  
psychologist, "I want you to round up all the slicers and  
  
dicers we got...I need forensics to go through the autopsy  
  
reports with a fine-tooth comb looking for any  
  
discrepancies. Tina," he said, I want every possible  
  
scenario with this Billy Miles guy. Time ain't a luxury!"  
  
He spat, and went into the waiting room, collapsing into  
  
the chair behind his desk.  
  
"Admiral, I've been looking at these police reports, and  
  
there's nothing solid to convict 'im on. It's all  
  
circumstantial evidence...there's no real proof here.  
  
There's no corroborating testimony for Mulder's whereabouts  
  
except for Scully's saying she..." here, his jaw dropped,  
  
"was with him that night."  
  
Al nodded. "Before we hafta mop your tongue off the floor,  
  
between you and me, Doggett, Scully and Mulder had a thing  
  
for each other years ago, but either couldn't tell the  
  
other their feelings until...as far as I can figure...just  
  
before he was abducted."  
  
"Goddammit Al...Mulder's a jack-ass, but he's no murderer.  
  
I know he wouldn't kill anybody unless it was in the line  
  
of duty. Tell your friend Becket that if Mulder needs a  
  
lawyer I got a friend back home in Georgia named Matlock.  
  
He's a bit expensive and beats around the bush worse than  
  
Columbo, but with a case this strong, I bet he would come  
  
outta retirement."  
  
"Thanks, Doggett...but now, Ziggy's saying Mulder doesn't  
  
even go to trial. If we don't do something fast, history's  
  
gonna repeat itself. How'd you figure with Mulder and  
  
Scully?"  
  
"I'm not blind, Admiral...I think I figured out that soap-  
  
opera plot the day Scully threw water in my face. I'm just  
  
shocked she admitted it. What I don't get is how they got a  
  
warrant passed. Whatever got 'em to pass the buck on that,  
  
I ain't buyin'."  
  
"What do you know of the syndicate?"  
  
"A former conspiracy outfit that ended with the deaths of  
  
an anonymous Smoking Man and a former FBI agent named Alex  
  
Krycek." Al shook his head slowly.  
  
"Not former."  
  
"You have *got* to be shittin' me, Al...I saw Krycek's  
  
body!"  
  
"It' ain't Ratboy...it's Old Smokey...he's back."  
  
"I didn't think that sonuvabitch had any lives left."  
  
"You think there's someone workin' inside the police  
  
department?" Al posed, making a face as he took a long  
  
draught of strong, bitter coffee.  
  
"Damn possible."  
  
The face was badly burned. The lips and nose were nothing  
  
more but a gooey mishmash of fried flesh. The right hand  
  
was burned onto the face, covering the other face, in a  
  
self-defensive movement. One eyelid was fused shut. Scully  
  
carefully cut the hand after from the face, grimacing at  
  
the noise of crusty flesh breaking apart. The other eyelid  
  
was half-open, the eye itself blue and staring, looked up  
  
at Scully.  
  
Scully stared at the eye, her eyebrows furrowed in thought.  
  
She put the scalpel down and went to the thick police file  
  
on the counter. She flipped it open and stared at the crime  
  
photographs. "On re-examination of the crime scene  
  
pictures, when the subject was recovered from the river, it  
  
was in a garbage sack. The right hand was covering the  
  
upper potion of the face, as if warding off an attack." She  
  
looked at the picture of Ben Starkweather the police used  
  
to ask Mulder if he "knew this man."  
  
"Oh my God!" Scully exclaimed. She looked at the body  
  
again, looked at the picture.  
  
In the photograph, Ben, very clearly had brown eyes. The  
  
body's one open staring eye was blue.  
  
Scully ran for her phone and dialed.  
  
"Detective Carillo."  
  
Scully stopped. "Sorry, wrong number," she muttered as she  
  
hung up. She re-dialed.  
  
"Assistant Director Skinner."  
  
"Sir, it's me. I need to talk to you. I need to talk to  
  
someone that I can trust. I think I have proof that Mulder  
  
is being set up."  
  
"Don't say anything more. Come here, quickly." Skinner hung  
  
up.  
  
Scully took out her digital camera, took pictures of the  
  
body's face and eye, put the camera back in the bag and  
  
called Quantico's assistant coroner. "Can you finish this  
  
autopsy, something's come up, I need take care of my son."  
  
She smiled. As much as she loved her son... she had to  
  
admit, he made a great excuse for a quick getaway.  
  
What we need," Scully said, putting Will down in the  
  
playpen, is to get some connection between this murder and  
  
the oil rig."  
  
"I wish I could get you clearence into something that would  
  
help, Scully...but I honestly don't know what to tell  
  
you..."  
  
"I used to know Admiral Bailey from when our families would  
  
spend the summers on Martha's Vineyard. I did some digging  
  
and found out that he's taken some recent flights there."  
  
"You think he's hiding something at the vacation house?"  
  
Skinner finished.  
  
"It's very possible...could you get me a warrant for  
  
searching the premesis?"  
  
"I'll do what I can...but remember if Kersh is in on this,  
  
he may be hesitant to issue permission to search."  
  
"We've got other avenues besides Kersh, Sir...I think if we  
  
can get into that house, we can find the proof we're  
  
looking for."  
  
"I have no intentions of transferring Starkweather, Scully,  
  
but I may relocate her to a new division. She's against its  
  
senior member because of your ties to the founder...it's  
  
obstructing the case."  
  
"Sir, I think she'll understand once we bring evidence to  
  
light that Mulder isn't guilty and I don't think there'll  
  
be a need to transfer her. She's good for the x-files."  
  
"I'll trust your judgment on that. If I'm going to get  
  
that search warrant issued, I'd better hurry before  
  
everyone goes home for the night."  
  
"Thank you for all your help on this, Sir."  
  
"Scully, off the record, I've got too much invested in you,  
  
Mulder, and that damn basement office to sit back and watch  
  
it all go down the drain now...it's as much my fight as it  
  
is yours. I have a warrant to get...and you..." he said  
  
looking from Will to Scully, "have some a--" he stopped  
  
himself, "I mean, uh...you know what I mean....Call me when  
  
you find something. Be careful. That's an order."  
  
"Don't worry, I will." Scully said, ushering him out the  
  
door. She turned on her computer, and booked the first  
  
flight the next day with the FBI credit card to Martha's  
  
Vineyard.  
  
D.C. County Jail  
  
*****************  
  
"Mulder, you've got a visitor" The gaurd yelled, upset.  
  
"Your attorney's here.  
  
"Attorney? I don't have an attorney..." Mulder's nose  
  
crinkled in confusion as his mind reeled through any  
  
possibility.  
  
"The law fairy," the guard grumbled.  
  
"I guess in this profession you gotta keep a sense of  
  
humor, huh?" Mulder mumbled, and was lead into a room with  
  
tables split between cages.  
  
At one of the cages, waiting for Mulder's arrival was a  
  
young man with sandy hair and a thin smile, that, for now,  
  
had a small bandage over it.  
  
"I'm with the lawfirm of Carter, Spangle and Adams,  
  
Mr. Mulder. I read about your case and have heard a quite a  
  
bit about you. Just from glancing over the police and autopsy  
  
reports, I can see that most of the pile of evidence against  
  
you is a bunch of circumstantial crap.  
  
I think we can build a good case toward proving your  
  
innocence."  
  
"I heard lots of lawyer jokes, but never actually thought  
  
somebody would rough one up," Mulder said eyeing the man's nasty cut  
  
on his head. "What happened?" Mulder asked,  
  
taking a seat on the opposite side of the gate.  
  
"I got into a little rough-and-tumble with my brother,  
  
nothing to worry about." The man lied. Mulder knew he lied,  
  
but was careful to conceal his observation. For now.  
  
"I appreciate your help, of course, Councilor, but I'm not  
  
quite sure I can trust your intentions. There are lot of  
  
questions I need answers for...like...your name, for  
  
one...and your credentials."  
  
"I graduated from Virginia State University Law School, and  
  
set up my own practice. I want to help you for lots of  
  
reasons. One of the biggest is that I'm a new lawyer and  
  
need the publicity..."  
  
"The other?"  
  
The lawyer let out a heavy sigh, and cast his eyes  
  
downward. "I know your background at the FBI, Mr. Mulder.  
  
You work with...um...UFO's. Especially alien abductees."  
  
"I don't understand..."  
  
"I was eighteen. Two weeks before graduation, me and my  
  
then-girlfriend Lilly were out in the woods in my Caddy  
  
convertible." His voice became soft and detached, "The sky  
  
was so full of stars that night. She was sixteen, and  
  
wearing this blue sundress...I had saved for a year for an  
  
engagement ring for her...I was about to give it to her  
  
when she happened to look up and noticed a bright light...I  
  
just stood there, watching her floating up into this  
  
beam...then she was gone...the beam of light was gone, and  
  
the ship..." he broke off, not able to regain composure.  
  
"So you think Lily was abducted by aliens?" Mulder  
  
finished for him.  
  
"I know she was...I watched her...I wanted to take your  
  
case, because I knew if I could get you in the clear, you  
  
could help me find her again."  
  
"So, how are you planning to defend me?"  
  
"Well," the lawyer began slowly, "like I said, it seems to  
  
me that their entire case is pretty much circumstantial. I  
  
also think if I do a little digging, I can find the truth  
  
behind who really murdered Mr. Starkweather."  
  
"What's your fee?" Mulder demanded, still cautious of this  
  
man's intentions.  
  
"Because I think you can help me after I get out, I'm doing  
  
this pro bono."  
  
"One service for another?"  
  
"Exactly." the man said, punctuating it with a nod of the  
  
head. "You're scheduled for trial in an hour. Have we got a  
  
deal?"  
  
"We've got a deal Mr...." Mulder replied, hinting that he  
  
never got a name.  
  
"Leo." The man answered, picking up the hint. "Justin Leo.  
  
I have no doubt that you'll be back with that girl and baby  
  
boy of yours in no time." He said with a grin.  
  
"The beginning of a beautiful friendship..." Mulder mumbled  
  
almost inaudibly, as he was led back to his cell.  
  
"Sandy?" Leo said as soon as Mulder was lead out of the  
  
visiting area. "I want you to check and see who's on the  
  
docket for this afternoon. Can you do that for me? Judge  
  
Carlson? Thanks. I owe ya one. Bye..." he dialed another  
  
number. "Judge Carlson, Leo here...the powers that be don't  
  
want this Mulder case to go. Can you do me a favor?...Can  
  
you set bail as high as the books will letchya? Thanks. I  
  
really appreciate this. I owe ya one." He said, turning off  
  
his cell and packing up his briefcase. "After this is over,  
  
I'll be up to my ears in I-O-U's...but, if it buys me  
  
Lily..." he said sighing, and left the room.  
  
  
  
As promised, the preliminary hearing was scheduled wiht  
  
arraignment court in an hour.  
  
In a half an hour, Leo was prepared for the case, procuring  
  
a suit with an unMulderlike pinstriped tie for Mulder to  
  
wear during the trial.  
  
"Mulder versus the city of Washington, D.C., your honor."  
  
The court clerk introduced them as a bailiff brought in  
  
Mulder. "The charge is one count of premeditated murder."  
  
"Fox Mulder was brought in for murder when a body," the  
  
D.A. began, hesitating to open a folder for the , "90%  
  
burned confirmed to be that of one Benjamin Starkweather,  
  
an environmental attorney who was building a case against  
  
the FBI, Mr. Mulder's former employer, regarding the case  
  
which led to his dismissal from his former position  
  
regarding the division he led known as the x-files."  
  
"Mr. Mulder, how do you plea?" The Judge inquired, looking  
  
him squarely in the eyes.  
  
"Not guilty, your honor." Mulder said simply, "I'm innocent  
  
of all the charges brought against me, and fully intend to  
  
proove that contention."  
  
"We'll let a jury decide that once a trial date is set,  
  
sir. Charlotte, you got anything to say to this?" The judge  
  
said, eyeing the D.A. over her glaces.  
  
"Your Honor," the D.A. began, her green eyes scrutinizing  
  
the defense lawyer, "the defendant is a former FBI agent.  
  
He is well-trained in manual force, and is well-versed in  
  
how to use a weapon. He also has a record for loosing his  
  
temper, and a reputation for violence. I think it is a  
  
hazard to this community for him to walk the streets. It is  
  
my recommendation that this court sets bail at the maximum  
  
amount."  
  
"Your Honor," Leo began pretentiously, "his assistance in  
  
solving this case is crucial. His clearance with the FBI  
  
could shed light on my argument better than anyone else. He  
  
is also a servant of the city, currently employed by the  
  
city as Deputy Mayor. I should also add that he is a new  
  
father."  
  
"Mr. Mulder, while I congratulate you on your new baby, I  
  
cannot, in good conscience, allow someone, as the D.A.  
  
pointed out, who knows how to incorporate manual force and  
  
is suspected of premeditated murder walk scott-free. Bail  
  
is set for the maximum amount of $65,000."  
  
With the rap of the gavel, Mulder was back to square one.  
  
"Fox Mulder, your case is dismissed. Bailiff, please remove  
  
the defendant from the courtroom." 


	6. Refugees

5:03pm  
  
Scully's Apt.  
  
Georgetown  
  
*************  
  
Skinner met Scully at her apartment within a couple of  
  
hours.  
  
"What's this all about, Scully?"  
  
"Mr. Starkweather was not the man whose autopsy I performed  
  
a couple of hours ago."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Dental records matched...I don't know how...but the dental  
  
records matched. I didnt' realize that the body I just  
  
finished an examination of was not Mr. Starkweather's."  
  
"That still doesn't explain how you know it wasn't his."  
  
Skinner persisted.  
  
"I was looking at what was left of the victim's eyes for  
  
detection of poisoning beforehand, and the color wasn't  
  
right. Starkweather had brown eyes...the body I examined  
  
had blue ones."  
  
"So what do you think that means?" Skinner asked, messaging  
  
his sinuses.  
  
"I'm not sure..." Scully hesitated, "it could be entirely  
  
likely that Ben Starkweather is still alive."  
  
"Have you showed your evidence to the detectives in charge  
  
of this case yet?"  
  
"No..." she said, taking a deep breath, "As long as we  
  
think Ben Starkweather is dead, whoever is behind this  
  
whole mess won't harm us."  
  
"Scully..." Skinner began cautiously, "I think Mulder's  
  
getting to you...do you realize what you're implicating? I  
  
*know* he didn't do anything he was charged with, but to  
  
say it's part of some giant conspiracy is a bit far-  
  
fetched."  
  
"I know it's out in left-field...but Doggett and I saw four  
  
men...one of them Mulder's boss and one of them ours.  
  
Another was Admiral Jeremy Bailey..."  
  
"Starkweather's father?" Skinner blurted out. Scully  
  
nodded. "Do you think Agent Starkweather was put here to  
  
cover for her dad?  
  
"It's possible...but Sir...she's one of the best Agents  
  
I've worked with in a long time...she's held her own in  
  
that office, and just because her adoptive father's used  
  
her as a pawn is not cause for dismissal."  
  
"I agree completely..." Skinner "I have absolutely no  
  
intentions of transferring her. Kersh would be all too  
  
happy to see her go."  
  
"I'll bet Kersh is dancing on Ben's casket." Scully said  
  
with a sly grin.  
  
"Well, Kersh is thrilled with this incident," Skinner  
  
admitted. "With Mulder out of the way like this, and  
  
Doggett concentrating on his own issues, there's no time  
  
left for investigation of his own office, let alone media  
  
frenzy reflecting negatively on the FBI. The FBI is  
  
positively glowing right now. How's Agent Starkweather  
  
holding up?"  
  
"Doggett's the better one to field that question, sir.  
  
Quite frankly, with my ties to Mulder, I'm not sure I want  
  
to be caught in her crossfire just yet. She's got a very  
  
strong spirit, Sir."  
  
"Wilting flower, Jerilyn Starkweather ain't. That's for  
  
sure." Skinner growled. "How do you propose to prove all  
  
this implications?"  
  
Sam knew Mulder's only offense was his talent to get people  
  
annoyed at him, but jack-assness wasn't something that was  
  
punishable by law. As aggravating as he was at times, Sam  
  
was beginning to understand that Mulder sometimes had to  
  
forego being likable in order to find the truth he made his  
  
life's work to seek. Despite that, or maybe even because  
  
of, Sam still found himself wishing he could spend more  
  
time on Mulder's quest for the Truth, and more driven than  
  
ever to stop his projected end. People that driven by such  
  
a one-sided cause are sometimes as compassionate as they  
  
are purposefully irritating. But...Sam decided...that just  
  
came with the territory. Either way, he couldn't let Mulder  
  
end his quest...not now.  
  
The first step in that direction seemed to be getting  
  
Starkweather convinced that Mulder didn't commit her  
  
husband's murder. He had to convince her somehow that there  
  
was no murder even committed, but that wasn't the first  
  
priority for now. The first priority at this moment was  
  
getting Scully to convince Starkweather that Mulder wasn't  
  
playing her for a fool.  
  
Sam got in the pick-up and headed to Doggett's house,  
  
whipped out the cell phone, and dialed Scully's number.  
  
"Scully, it's Doggett."  
  
"What's going on? You found anything?"  
  
"Sorta...how do you feel towards Starkweather right now?"  
  
"What does that have to do with anything?" Scully demanded  
  
"Oh...nothing..." Sam lied, "just answer the question, will  
  
ya?"  
  
"Um...no hard feelings, sympathy...why?"  
  
"Wouldn't you agree that she'd be a good ally to have on  
  
this case?"  
  
"Of course...but she won't stand up to her father, and she  
  
thinks Mulder killed her husband. I wouldn't wanna stay in  
  
the x-files if I were her either."  
  
"Well...I think she might have changed her mind about  
  
staying in the x-files. What if I brought her over to your  
  
place say around six to talk things over?"  
  
"Sure...that sounds fine...I'll order some pizza or  
  
something for dinner. I'd fix a real meal, but there isn't  
  
many groceries here beyond baby food."  
  
"That'll be great Scully...thanks. Making any progress?"  
  
"Uh huh," Scully said, nodding her head as if he could see  
  
her, "Booked a flight to Martha's Vineyard a half an hour  
  
ago. Skinner's going to get me a search warrant for the  
  
Admiral's summer home. I'm hoping I'll have something solid  
  
there."  
  
"Me too...see you at six." He affirmed, and hung up, hoping  
  
that he would be able to touch base with Al. As hard as it  
  
was going to be for him, he needed to give Starkweather  
  
some proof that Ben was still alive.  
  
He hoped that was what she really wanted.  
  
Sam knew Scully would straighten Starkweather out where  
  
Mulder was concerned, now all he needed to do was come up  
  
with some way to convince her that Ben was still alive. Al  
  
was waiting for him inside.  
  
"How's it going, Sam? How's Starkweather holding up?"  
  
"She'll be just fine if I can figure out some way to  
  
convince her Ben's still alive. We need her as an ally. I  
  
think she's coming around, though."  
  
"That's good to know..." Al said it as if he was waiting  
  
for something more. When Sam filled the beat of silence  
  
with a gulp of coffee, he decided to drop the issue. "Any  
  
ideas?"  
  
"Al...I know what you're thinking..."  
  
"Sam...it would be much easier if you just follow my  
  
philosophy with women, you know buddy?"  
  
"...over one million served is a slogan with golden arches  
  
under it...not a philosophy." Sam growled.  
  
"I just hate seeing you beat yourself up over women every  
  
single time. Your brain ain't the only organ swiss-  
  
cheezed**."  
  
"My love life is not up for discussion, Al..." he hissed  
  
indignantly, "this is about getting Mulder out of jail so I  
  
can leap...who knows..."  
  
"...yeah, I know...I know...for now, though, we gotta come  
  
up with some way to get the Little Hurricane to help break  
  
Spooky outta the joint...listen to me...I sound like  
  
someone off the A-Team..." he grumbled, shaking his head.  
  
"Can she still see you?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Starkweather...can she still see you?"  
  
"I think so...why? What have you got up your sleeve, Sam?"  
  
"How are your wings?"  
  
"My wings?" Al sputtered, "Sam...I think the swiss-cheeze  
  
effect has gotten to your head, kid."  
  
"Pollish your halo, Al...Starkweather's gonna have a  
  
revelation tonight."  
  
"Sam...I think I lost my halo with my Little Orphan Annie  
  
decoder ring. No...wait," Al spat, "I lost *that* with my  
  
virginity...I lost my *halo* somewhere in the pacific...we  
  
got bored, so we started playing frisbee with it, wind  
  
caught...and..."  
  
"Al..." Sam admonished, pretending to be annoyed.  
  
Then he headed out the door to Scully's place  
  
Scully, still waiting for files to load, picked up her  
  
cellphone again.  
  
"Byers, it's Scully. Can you boys do something for me  
  
please?"  
  
"Sure, Scully. What's up?"  
  
"I need you to get something for me. Is there any way you  
  
can access Mulder's phone records and personal files and  
  
fax them to the office?"  
  
"Yeah, sure..." Byers started, but Langley took over.  
  
"Only if you tell me why you need them."  
  
"You don't think he's up to something, do you?" Frohike  
  
butted in.  
  
"You haven't read the paper this morning yet have you?"  
  
Scully said with a heavy sigh. She really hated giving them  
  
bad news.  
  
"Scully, we don't exactly have a mailing address,  
  
remember?" Frohike reminded.  
  
"I don't think he's up to something, but we...I...need  
  
those as proof."  
  
"Proof for what? Mulder's in trouble again?"  
  
"We have to ask that, Frohicke?" Langley butted in.  
  
"He was arrested this morning for the murder of Mr.  
  
Starkweather. We need that stuff as proof so we can get  
  
Mrs. Starkweather..."  
  
"The one who had me in a death grip yesterday?" Frohike  
  
interrupted.  
  
"That's the one." Scully answered with an annoyed tone.  
  
"Nice girl." Langly chided.  
  
Scully barely held in a scream. "We need that proof so we  
  
can get Mrs. Starkweather on our side. If she's convinced  
  
Mulder didn't kill her husband then she'll help us clear  
  
his name."  
  
"That shouldn't be a problem." Frohike said. Scully heard  
  
the beeping and whirring of a computer being booted up. "We  
  
can send it to you as a .ZIP file in about half an hour."  
  
"That'd be great guys, thanks." Scully said, taking off her  
  
glasses and messaging her forehead, "I appreciate it."  
  
"How's Will doing?" Frohike managed to sputter out before  
  
Scully hung up.  
  
"He's asleep." She said flatly. "Frohike, I'd love to chat,  
  
but I'm just a bit busy at the moment." She abruptly hung  
  
up on him as the files she was waiting on finally printed  
  
out.  
  
Just as the last page printed out the phone rang again.  
  
She would've just left it to order the pizza, but the CLD  
  
identified the number from the FBI. "Scully." She responded  
  
curtly.  
  
"I've got the warrant issued." Skinner was saying. "I hadda  
  
pull a few strings, but I got it. All you hafta do is pick  
  
it up before your flight departs."  
  
"Thanks, I appreciate it. See you tomorrow." She didn't  
  
wait for him to say anything before hanging up.  
  
Then she dialed for pizza.  
  
Later on that afternoon....  
  
George Washington University Hospital  
  
901 23rd Street NW  
  
Washington DC  
  
"Ready, Mrs. Starkweather?" The doctor said with a smile,  
  
holding the small circular saw which he was going to use to  
  
cut the cast off.  
  
Starkweather flinched at the word 'Mrs.' "Ready," she said,  
  
positioning her arm.  
  
The saw gnawed loudly through the plaster. Starkweather  
  
turned her head away. "Here we go," he said, peeling the  
  
rest of the cast off of her. "Looks good as new," he  
  
proclaimed.  
  
Starkweather thought it looked skinny and dandruffy.  
  
"Gross," she muttered, brushing the dead skin flakes off  
  
and away.  
  
"That will all wash off." The doctor said good naturedly.  
  
He rotated her wrist. "Any pain?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Tingling sensations in the fingertips?"  
  
"No. Feel fine."  
  
"Then, why are you so pale, Mrs. Starkweather?"  
  
"Um... I just received some REALLY bad news before I came  
  
here."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said but did not push for  
  
which, Starkweather was infinitely grateful.  
  
He fitted her with the splint that she had to wear for  
  
another month, which would be a pain, but infinitely  
  
preferable over the hot, heavy cast she had been wearing  
  
for over a month. The doctor gave her some instructions For  
  
her at-home physical therapy and released her.  
  
Starkweather got into the car, but did not go home. She did  
  
not go to Scully's right away either.  
  
She went to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  
  
She needed to re-read that damn file that started this  
  
entire mess. Starkweather was convinced that there was  
  
something that everyone was overlooking.  
  
"Unfortunately, I'm only gonna know it when I find it," she  
  
muttered, flexing her "bad" hand, the right hand, before  
  
she started up the car and drove away while thinking  
  
guiltily I wonder if I can handle the motorcycle now that  
  
the cast is off? for only a few nights back, she told her  
  
husband not to drink too much while at dinner with friends  
  
because she wouldn't be able to work the Kawasaki very well  
  
with her broken hand.  
  
In a park in Starkweather and Mulder's neighborhood...  
  
*****************************************************  
  
"Look, Admiral," Kersh was saying, "I'd like to stop it,  
  
but we've gone too far now. The scale is too momentous;  
  
your daughter is only a grieving widow now. Undoubtedly,  
  
she will leave her position on the x-files after this  
  
ordeal, and do so with her career unscathed."  
  
"Kersh," the Admiral replied, skirting around him making it  
  
certain that they wouldn't be seen talking, "how long have  
  
you been working on the FBI?"  
  
"A very long time, sir."  
  
"In your entire career, have you ever known someone to  
  
willingly leave the x-files office?"  
  
"Come to think of it Jeremy," Kersh paused for a thoughtful  
  
beat of silence, "I haven't. If I didn't know any better,  
  
I'd say Mulder still sucks people in somehow."  
  
"That senior officer, Agent Scully..." Admiral Bailey  
  
mused, "I knew her as a little girl. We'd vacation over the  
  
summer. I would never have figured her to work with the  
  
likes of Fox Mulder. Even as a little girl, she was all  
  
seriousness. I don't want to start anything that leads in  
  
bloodshed. I just want my little girl to stay ignorant."  
  
"If that's going to happen, Admiral," Kersh answered,  
  
"we're going to have to close the x-file division. Even  
  
then, we still can't guarantee your daughter won't find out  
  
the truth through other venues. Some people will have to be  
  
terminated."  
  
"I can't have that weight on my conscience, Alvin. Knowing  
  
the truth would kill my little girl...but not at that  
  
cost."  
  
"People will be terminated, Admiral Bailey, regardless of  
  
what Jerilyn may or may not know. The x-files division  
  
cannot remain open if our cause is to continue. What if we  
  
save thousands of lives at the sacrifice of a few, or what  
  
if we save the human race..."  
  
"What-if games only get people killed." Mayor Swanson  
  
softly insisted as he approached the pair. "I want them  
  
stopped. We have done enough--we have done too damn much.  
  
Admiral, do you want your little girl to love you for a  
  
lie?"  
  
"I don't want her to hate me for the truth." The Admiral  
  
answered in a self-admonishing whisper.  
  
Without a word, Kersh pointed a gun at the Admiral. "I  
  
think you should reconsider your stance on this, Jeremy."  
  
Mayor Swanson stood wide-eyed at the barrel pointed at the  
  
Admiral. The Admiral closed his eyes slowly. "Lynn,  
  
honey..." he murmured softly looking Heavenwards.  
  
"Alvin, are you sure you know what you're doing?" the Mayor  
  
began cautiously. "In a public place...in broad  
  
daylight...we'd be found for sure."  
  
"No one's around for a few miles, Harry. No one but the  
  
birds and squirrels, and they ain't talkin'." The gun  
  
clicked as his finger tightened around the trigger.  
  
Despite Mayor Harry Swanson's slight build, by having the  
  
advantage of surprise, he managed to grab Kersh's arm and  
  
point the gun skyward. "Jeremy!" Mayor Swanson hollered,  
  
and the Admiral leapt to his feet, both the men tackling  
  
Kersh, the Admiral belting Kersh in the stomach, hard  
  
enough to make him double over.  
  
"Murder is not our policy." The Admiral hissed, shakily  
  
holding the gun in Kersh's ear.  
  
"I'd keep that in mind if I were you, Alvin." Mayor Swanson  
  
chided. "I heard about how you ran things." The Mayor said,  
  
giving him a swift kick in the gut, eliciting a low groan.  
  
"My Deputy told me everything."  
  
"You're right...no one around..to hear us...but birds...and  
  
squirrels...for miles." the Admiral said, accentuating  
  
every so often following the Mayor's movements. "And they  
  
ain't talkin'."  
  
"Mulder's in jail now," The Mayor said, silently  
  
admonishing himself for the small part he played in that,  
  
"the x-files are no harm to our cause anymore. There's no  
  
need to bring any bloodshed unless it's from your own ass.  
  
I can't...I can't do this anymore." He glanced at both at  
  
them. "You both make me nauseous." he fumed indignantly,  
  
"How you two can sit back and save the world at the cost of  
  
the people who make living in this world worth it is beyond  
  
me!"  
  
"You are such a hypocrite, Harry." Kersh growled as soon as  
  
he was able to catch his breath, "Here you are  
  
pontificating about what you were doing, and there you go  
  
sitting on a fence. At least we are choosing to do  
  
something about our fate."  
  
"Our fate was something we could do about?" The Mayor fired  
  
back, and stormed off. The Admiral shot Kersh one last  
  
dirty look, and followed him.  
  
They didn't stay long enough to see Kersh's form twist and  
  
contort until Kersh was no longer recognizable as the  
  
Deputy Director of the FBI...  
  
...but as Billy Miles.  
  
Later on....  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Builder  
  
The X-Files Office  
  
Starkweather had been sitting at Mulder's old desk for over  
  
two hours now, pouring through the oil rig case file,  
  
unconsciously nibbling on the sunflower seeds that had been  
  
laying on his desk. "F*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck, F*CK!!!!!" she  
  
finally cursed aloud, in complete frustration. With one  
  
sweeping motion, she knocked EVERYTHING off of his desk.  
  
She buried her face in her hands.  
  
Skinner walked in just in time to see pens, sunflower  
  
seeds, pages of files, folders, desk planner, highlighters,  
  
paper clips, a calculator and a coffee mug flying  
  
everywhere. The coffee mug shattered on impact.  
  
"Agent Starkweather?" he asked carefully.  
  
She didn't even look up. "Yes sir?"  
  
"You should be at home."  
  
"I was going insane at home sir. I thought if I came here,  
  
maybe I could be productive," she finally looked up. "Ha,"  
  
she said bitterly.  
  
Skinner coughed before going on. "I took the liberty of  
  
notifying Ben's parents of the bad news," he said gruffly.  
  
"I hope I didn't overstep my boundaries."  
  
If Skinner was worried about being on the receiving end of  
  
her mingled wrath and grief, the look of gratitude on her  
  
haggard face alieved any concerns. "No... that... that was  
  
good of you," she said, equally gruff.  
  
"Starkweather, go home."  
  
"Sir, with all due respect... I can't... I have to..."  
  
"You have to take time to grieve, Agent," Skinner said  
  
sternly. Starkweather rested her head in her hands again.  
  
He crouched down to pick up the scattered sheets of paper  
  
from the file she sent sailing across the room. "Let Scully  
  
and Doggett take care of this. You need to tend to your  
  
personal needs," he stood up, holding papers in his hand.  
  
"That is an order, Agent Starkweather."  
  
But Starkweather wasn't listening to Skinner, she was  
  
staring at the photocopy that he was holding. "Let me see  
  
that sir," she said, getting up from Mulder's desk.  
  
"See what?" Skinner asked but she had already taken the  
  
paper from him.  
  
"Oh my God... oh my God... this is it... this is the link.  
  
Jesus... sir... if Mulder is innocent... then this entire  
  
fucking game makes sense..."  
  
"What is it?" Skinner instantly forgot his order for  
  
Starkweather to relieve her duties.  
  
"It's not conclusive, it won't get Mulder out of jail...  
  
but it makes perfect sense... and it's a start," she waved  
  
the photocopy of an indigenous man's green card in front of  
  
him. "I can't believe I missed this. According to Doggett's  
  
report, two men were singled out and killed on the rig. Two  
  
men from a remote indigenous village in Mexico. They were  
  
immune to that black oil stuff. Now, whether it's truly go  
  
from Mars or a man-made biologically engineered nightmare  
  
is inconclusive, but it HAS been proven that it exists and  
  
documented that it is a virus, capable of destroying a  
  
living organism within days, correct?"  
  
"Yes..." Skinner said slowly. "You can say that."  
  
"Plus, it has also been proven and documented that Agent  
  
Scully was infected with this black oil by a bee sting and  
  
was saved by a vaccine given to Mulder from a dubious  
  
source, correct?"  
  
"Yes... but I don't follow Starkweather."  
  
She continued, growing excited, "If Mulder's wild tales are  
  
true... about the Syndicate... launching a massive  
  
biological war on the public... as dogged as our fine media  
  
is... the minute they would find out there is a deadly  
  
virus out there, but there was a race that was immune to  
  
the disease, they would broadcast it to the four winds. As  
  
advanced as our medical technology is as well... WE could  
  
have our own vaccine or maybe at least a therapy to slow  
  
the progress of the black oil's effects until a cure could  
  
be found. Plus, if you connect it to the whole bee-sting  
  
thing... if you remember, a few years back, there was a  
  
scare about killer bees, aggressive, volatile stinging bees  
  
coming into the United States from Mexico. Scully was stung  
  
by a bee in Texas and according to THAT file..." she dove  
  
into the tall file cabinet, thumbed through some files,  
  
pulled out the one she wanted and flipped through the  
  
pages, "she was stung by a African honey bee, the same bee  
  
that was imported from Africa to Mexico that started the  
  
panic. She was stung in Texas, near the Mexican border."  
  
She said triumphantly. "Don't you see? It would completely  
  
blow the conspiracy into the open. Mulder and Doggett  
  
didn't want this to come to light because they were worried  
  
about the safety of their near and dear ones... but they  
  
never thought about the bigger picture."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"The AIDS virus has been around for years, decades. So has  
  
Ebola, the Hanta virus... you name the disease, it has been  
  
around longer than the dinosaurs. There is no such thing as  
  
a 'new' disease. People think it's new because they've  
  
never heard about it before. Only when they become educated  
  
about it, then they panic and start screaming for a cure.  
  
Plus, if it comes to light that the oil rig has been  
  
attempting import the virus itself to the United States,  
  
all hell would break loose. The Syndicate would be screwed  
  
because either A-- if they really are aliens and they're in  
  
cohorts with them... they're screwed because ET is going to  
  
be pissed that the race of immune humans were not taken  
  
care of. And then we're talking about 'Independence Day.'Or  
  
B -- if they are doing this themselves... with all the  
  
information Mulder and Scully have complied over the  
  
years... we've got the makings of a real witch hunt right  
  
here. Heads would start to roll. And all of this would have  
  
come out if Ben would have succeeded in bringing it to  
  
trial. "  
  
"How does that clear Mulder of..." Skinner stopped himself  
  
before he said "Ben's murder."  
  
"That's the problem..." Starkweather said. "It doesn't. But  
  
it's making me re-think somethings..."  
  
"You think Mulder's innocent then?" Skinner asked  
  
hopefully.  
  
His hopes were dashed when she said "I said it's making me  
  
rethink some things. I only said this theory makes sense if  
  
Mulder was innocent, but I have no evidence. Just a hunch.  
  
I'm not going to run on a hunch, I'm going to research it.  
  
I'm making no moves until I have conclusive proof of either  
  
his guilt or innocence."  
  
"A man is innocent until proven guilty." He reminded her.  
  
To which she responded, "Every man is guilty of  
  
something..."  
  
Skinner couldn't place it, but the way Starkweather looked  
  
up at him, and the way she was sitting at the desk with her  
  
arms confrontation-ally crossed echoed something familiar.  
  
He stooped down, helping her pick up the debris on the  
  
floor.  
  
"Regardless of whether or not Mulder's guilty or innocent  
  
of his charges, you still need the rest." Skinner insisted.  
  
"Sir, I'm only going to be able to rest until I find out  
  
the truth behind what happened to my husband. That truth  
  
may or may not clear the x-files, and along with it the  
  
founder of this division. Scully and Doggett both have  
  
their hands full right now."  
  
"I appreciate your dedication to finding the truth, but  
  
your health and well-being is not up for discussion. Scully  
  
and Doggett are very capable of carrying on this  
  
investigation by themselves."  
  
"Is that all you came down here, for, Sir? To tell me to go  
  
home?" She said, crinkling her nose in amusement, making  
  
Skinner wish again that he could remember why that seemed  
  
so familiar, "Because I have a hunch to research, and Ben's  
  
not going to rest in peace until I resolve his case."  
  
"Yes, I did come down here for something. Deputy Director  
  
Kersh wants you, me, Doggett and Scully all in his office  
  
tomorrow for review, and I have a s--" he stopped himself  
  
short of saying 'search warrant' "something for Scully."  
  
"I'm on my way over to her apartment in a few minutes, I  
  
can deliver it for you."  
  
"That won't be necessary, Starkweather, but I appreciate  
  
the offer. Off the record, Jerilyn," Skinner began gruffly,  
  
"I'm sorry for your loss."  
  
"You're only sorry Ben was murdered" Starkweather hissed  
  
coldly, "because the FBI's former Golden Boy is in trouble  
  
for it, and will probably spend the rest of his life behind  
  
bars for what he did. With all due respect, I know full  
  
well that if Ben's case had been allowed to continue, your  
  
little cause would be shot down in a heartbeat, and your  
  
career would most likely be over." She glowered, her gaze  
  
full of ferocious intent.  
  
"Agent Starkweather," he growled with his jaw clinched  
  
fiercely, "are you even aware of what you just implicated?  
  
You have just proven to me now more than ever that you need  
  
your grieving period. Don't think for one minute that  
  
taking your anger out on me, Mulder, or anyone else is  
  
going to bring Ben back. And if this anger harbored towards  
  
anyone is causing friction within the ranks of this  
  
division, believe me, I will not hesitate to recommend a  
  
transfer." With that, he stormed out.  
  
At that moment, Starkweather was grateful that her wrist  
  
had just been taken out of the cast, because she needed to  
  
throw something.  
  
Hard.  
  
"Well, Ben got what he fucking wanted." She grumbled.  
  
She picked up one of the larger fragments of the mug that  
  
was still scattered on the floor and threw it against the  
  
wall, smattering it into smaller bits and then landing it  
  
in the trashcan.  
  
"You hear that Ben!" She screamed picking up another piece,  
  
and promptly smashing it against he wall, "I fucked up  
  
ANOTHER position, got on ANOTHER boss's bad side."  
  
The motion was followed again swiftly with another of the  
  
larger fragments. She didn't notice that her wrist was  
  
throbbing.  
  
"I'll be lucky now to get a janitorial position at Quantico  
  
after this." She almost-whispered, nursing her wrist. She  
  
sat back down at the desk, hoping one more look would earn  
  
her the answers she needed, looking sadly over at Doggett's  
  
desk.  
  
Doggett, for reasons beyond her comprehension, seemed to  
  
think Mulder was innocent. She knew Skinner was certain of  
  
his former agent's innocence. Her eyes averted to Scully's  
  
desk. She walked behind it, and glanced at the picture of  
  
her, Mulder, and Will at what was a apparently taken at  
  
Will's christening.  
  
She didn't know Scully for very long, but the brief period  
  
of time that she had watched Mulder and Scully interact  
  
showed her that Scully was no pushover. There wasn't very  
  
much that Scully let Mulder get away with, and as much as  
  
she wanted to hate Mulder, she knew that it was illogical  
  
to think that Dana Scully would allow herself to be taken  
  
for a fool. She glanced at her wristwatch.  
  
Maybe, Starkweather hoped, the meeting in Scully's kitchen  
  
was for answers. She locked the door behind her and headed  
  
for her car.  
  
She drove by just missing the stiff movements of a form  
  
that what was once Kersh, and what was once a human Billy  
  
Miles swiftly approaching the tourist entrance of the FBI  
  
office.  
  
En Route to Scully's  
  
*******************  
  
Something gnawed at Starkweather as she started up her car.  
  
She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something wasn't  
  
right. She stopped by the county courthouse for the arresting  
  
report. To Starkweather, Mulder had a crystal clear motive for  
  
killing her husband. Ben's investigation would challenge the  
  
world as we know it. If they wanted to nail Mulder, the strongest  
  
evidence for the prosecution would be any peice of Ben's argument.  
  
But the hole in her case against Mulder was that there was  
  
none of Ben's evidence in the police reports found in the  
  
searches done either at Mulder's or Scully's apartments.  
  
It's the end of the world as we know it  
  
(I I am am not alone)  
  
It's the end of the world as we know it  
  
(I I am am not alone)  
  
It's the end of the world as we know it  
  
And I feel fine  
  
"Michael Stipe, you don't know the half of it."  
  
Starkweather grumbled as she flipped the station. She  
  
couldn't deny that a lot of the police evidence piled up  
  
against Mulder was circumstantial.  
  
I know your only protecting yourself  
  
I know your thinking of somebody else  
  
Some people look for a miracle cure  
  
Some people just accept the world as it is  
  
But I know this is a fight I can't loose  
  
The accused is an innocent man  
  
Starkweather was thrilled at that moment that she just  
  
pulled up into Scully's place. It hit her as she rang  
  
ascended in the elevator. Doggett could have easily been  
  
set up, or herself for that matter. It made sense that  
  
Mulder would have been set up, but she still needed proof  
  
that he didn't commit the crime.  
  
She approached Scully's door with a great deal of  
  
apprehension. After all, she did just destroy the x-files  
  
shrine. Maybe she shouldn't own up to that just yet.  
  
"Starkweather, come in, I've got pizza on the way.  
  
I'm...uh...sorry for your loss." Scully said rather  
  
awkwardly with a strained, thin, smile crossing her lips,  
  
and ushered her on the couch. "Doggett's on his way. I've  
  
got some fresh coffee brewing if you'd like some."  
  
"That'd be great, Scully, thanks. Listen...about what  
  
happened this morning with Mulder..."  
  
"Starkweather, it's alright." Scully consented, rising to  
  
get the coffee. "I know what it's like..." she handed her  
  
the mug, "not to belittle your situation, but the strange  
  
thing about what you did is that I've seen Mulder act the  
  
exact same way." She buried her head sheepishly in her  
  
hands. "If I wasn't around a bunch of people when I first  
  
met Doggett, I would have done a lot more harm than get his  
  
face wet. It's forgiven and forgotten."  
  
"Do you have any idea why Doggett asked me here?"  
  
Starkweather questioned, taking a long gulp of coffee.  
  
"I think it has something to do with the case. I've got  
  
something to show you. I want you to know that I still  
  
count you as an ally, whether you think Mulder is guilty or  
  
not."  
  
"I appreciate that..." Starkweather hesitated, "but there's  
  
something else you should know before you stick up for  
  
me..."  
  
"Just because Skinner threatened to transfer you doesn't  
  
mean we're gonna let it happen..." Scully started.  
  
"That's not it..." Starkweather said sheepishly.  
  
"What is it?" Scully asked harboring a quizzical smile  
  
across her face.  
  
"Gravity." Starkweather replied slowly  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I was looking for anything that might help Doggett's  
  
case," Starkweather began sheepishly, "and I kind of  
  
knocked everything off the shrine. The  
  
mug...everything...I'll replace the mug, of course..."  
  
"That's alright Starkweather," Scully said with a groan. "I  
  
dunno why we keep his old desk like that. While he was  
  
missing it was a way of keeping him in that office, as  
  
though he'd be coming back. Doggett kept it up out of  
  
respect for me, but eventually when Reyes comes back full  
  
time, we'd have to make room for her. I appreciate your  
  
honesty."  
  
"Well," Starkweather replied. "I'll go in tomorrow and put  
  
the mess back. Any new light on the case?"  
  
Just then the doorbell rang. Just behind a youth with a  
  
face just as pepperonied as the pizza in the box he was  
  
carrying came Sam. He took the box and paid for it.  
  
"You didn't have to do that, John." Scully said with a  
  
broad smile.  
  
"Consider it a consolation prize." Sam said dryly.  
  
"Scully," he said, setting the pizza box down on the  
  
kitchen counter, "I want you to explain to Starkweather  
  
exactly why Mulder couldn't have been guilty of killing her  
  
husband." He felt like a parent talking two kids out of a  
  
fight.  
  
It was Scully's turn to hesitate, she prolonged the answer  
  
by playing hostess. "I'll get some plates."  
  
"I need to hear why you think Mulder's innocent of his  
  
charges, Scully." Starkweather started.  
  
"Starkweather, the e-mail I was printing out earlier is  
  
something I want you to look at." Scully said, skillfully  
  
skirting the question Sam had wanted her to answer. "I had  
  
Byers scan me a copy of Mulder's phone records and email  
  
all his e-mails, from both his work account and personal  
  
account. They're all to either people with the FBI or the  
  
Gunmen. Not one of those numbers are questionable. None of  
  
his e-mails are questionnable either...well...unless you  
  
count his sense of humor...but his behavior is completely  
  
in line."  
  
"You asked me here to get me to believe Mulder's innocent?"  
  
Starkweather demanding, her eyes glancing from Scully to  
  
Doggett. "That is phucking incredible..." she murmured.  
  
"Starkweather," Sam began desperately, "look, if it *was* a  
  
set-up for what happened on that oil-rig case, I could have  
  
just as easily been set up as Mulder was, or Scully."  
  
"We're not trying to persuade you to believe anything,  
  
Starkweather." Scully argued. "We're trying to find the  
  
truth here. I understand that the grief is clouding your  
  
judgment right now, but I think you missed one clear peice  
  
of evidence."  
  
"And what was that?" Starkweather questioned fiercely.  
  
"That all the evidence built up against Mulder was  
  
circumstancial." Scully finished, sighing exasperatingly.  
  
"They are about to hang someone over proof no more solid  
  
than"--he saw Al appear in a shadow just then, "a  
  
hologram." Sam offered.  
  
"Look Starkweather," Scully persisted angrily, "The reason  
  
I know positively beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is  
  
innocent of those charges is" here she glanced warningly at  
  
Sam, who in kind gave her an urging nod, "he was with me  
  
that night." She finished softly with a sigh.  
  
*Busy bunnies* Al mouthed from his shadows. Sam shot him an  
  
annoyed glare.  
  
"Oh God." Starkweather whispered. "Scully...I  
  
didn't....well, I did but...Jesus fucking Christ,  
  
Scully...I'm really sorry."  
  
"Starkweather, it's alright...you didn't know." She looked  
  
apologetically up at Sam. "Nobody knew."  
  
"I think they got the idea when Will came along." Al  
  
couldn't help himself from whispering, earning him another  
  
warning glare from Sam.  
  
"Who said that?" Starkweather demanded, snapping around in  
  
the direction of the whisper. Sam feigned ignorance. "Damn,  
  
I need to lay off the coffee. Ever since this whole thing  
  
exploded, I've been hearing things. You think the alien DNA  
  
is contagious?"  
  
"Do you still think Mulder's guilty of killing your  
  
husband?" Scully softly persisted.  
  
Starkweather bit her lip, pressing her palm in her forehead  
  
with her elbow propped on the edge of the couch. "I don't  
  
know what to think, Scully. If he was with you...I believe  
  
you...but if he's innocent of these charges..." her voice  
  
wavered and her lips quivered as she made the realization.  
  
"...then there's only one other likely possibility here..."  
  
"Your father?" Sam finished for her, and over her shoulder,  
  
gave an urging glance over at Al.  
  
*I'll find what I can* Al mouthed. Starkweather bolted up  
  
the minute the click and sweep of the chamber door  
  
resounded.  
  
"I'm loosing my fucking mind." Starkweather mumbled.  
  
"Starkweather," Scully hesitated, "If you want a transfer  
  
still..."  
  
"No." she answered firmly, "This is the only way I can  
  
protect Ben's memory..." a thin smile crossed her lips, "by  
  
fighting the darkside. So...where do we start looking for  
  
evidence."  
  
"Doggett and I will handle gathering evidence.  
  
Starkweather," Scully insisted gently, "you have to take  
  
time for yourself now."  
  
"I *need* to find the truth, Scully."  
  
"I know you need to find the truth, but you won't find it  
  
with a clear head." Sam insisted.  
  
"Sometimes," Scully said thoughtfully, "the truth is like  
  
rain--repressing, oppressing, comforting, gray, and  
  
drenching all at once but in the same composition,  
  
refreshing and life-giving; offering rainbows or clear  
  
skies at its end. Get out of the rain for a little while,  
  
Starkweather. You need to rest."  
  
Sam drove Starkweather home. During the pow wow, he  
  
couldn't help but notice that Starkweather had kept nodding  
  
off, jerking her head up whenever she started to doze off.  
  
Her exhaustion caused her to miss another opportunity to  
  
formally meet Agent Reyes as she came over to sit with Will  
  
again. Starkweather just sort of mumbled hello with her  
  
eyes closed as Sam lead her out the door.  
  
In her daze, Starkweather went to her car, dropping the  
  
keys on the sidewalk. Sam scooped them up. "Uh-uh, you're  
  
coming with me."  
  
"Aw, Doggett, come on..." Starkweather complained. "I'm not  
  
that feeble."  
  
"But you're exhausted," Sam argued. "And it's been proven  
  
that more automotive accidents are caused by sleep  
  
deprivation than drunken driving. I'll take you home."  
  
And so, as Sam took her to her apartment, she had fallen  
  
asleep, her head leaning again the window. Sam kept  
  
stealing looks at her. She was still wearing the white  
  
shirt and black dress slacks she had on this morning when  
  
they went to the police station. The cast was gone though,  
  
replaced by a slender white splint that molded to her  
  
wrist. Her hair, lock by lock, was beginning to escape the  
  
military perfect bun she usually styled her hair in.  
  
Sam parked Doggett's truck in front of Starkweather's  
  
apartment building. He looked at himself in the rearview  
  
mirror.  
  
Doggett's tired face stared back at him. Huge purple-  
  
smudges ring the icy blue eyes. The lines in the craggy  
  
face looked even deeper than before. He needed a shave. He  
  
needed to sleep, perhaps even worse than Starkweather. He  
  
had almost nodded off a few times himself as he drove  
  
Starkweather home.  
  
"Starkweather?" he said gently. "Jerilyn? Hey, wake up."  
  
"Huh?" Starkweather's eyes popped out as if waking up from  
  
a bad dream, then her eyes fluttered shut again.  
  
Sam smiled wryly. He got out and walked around the truck to  
  
Starkweather's side. He carefully pried Starkweather's  
  
house keys out of her hands. He picked her up and slid her  
  
out of the truck. Awkwardly, he managed to hit the power  
  
locks of the trucks, then kicked the door shut.  
  
Starkweather never stirred.  
  
Sam carried her up the stairs to her apartment and into the  
  
livingroom, placing her gently on the sofa. He found two  
  
pillows and propped them behind her head. Then he fumbled  
  
through her darken apartment to hopefully find blankets.  
  
In the process, he tripped over the cat who was laying  
  
peacefully in front of the open doorway to Starkweather's  
  
bedroom  
  
"Ooff!," Sam landed face first.  
  
He could have swore he heard the cat snickering.  
  
Grabbing a quilt off of the bed, he went back to the living  
  
room. He covered Starkweather. But she still looked  
  
dreadfully uncomfortable, so Sam tilted her head up just a  
  
bit and one by one, plucked the hairpins out so she  
  
wouldn't be laying on an uncomfortable knot of hair. The  
  
only sounds in the moonlit apartment was the **plink  
  
plink** of metal hairpins dropping on the coffee table.  
  
Starkweather, as if drugged, never even stirred.  
  
Sam gently lowered her head back on the pillow, pushing her  
  
long, thick hair out of her face. He pushed her heavy bangs  
  
out of her eyes and noticed an odd looking scar on her  
  
forehead Wonder how she got that Sam wondered. He  
  
noticed that, even in sleep, her brow was crinkled in  
  
dismay and her lips were turned down. Not even in sleep was  
  
Starkweather getting a reprieve from the guilt and sorrow  
  
that hounded her.  
  
Sam turned his attention to her socks and shoes, lifting  
  
the blanket off her feet so he could remove her sensible  
  
black penny loafers, shined to a military spit polish.  
  
Starkweather moved slightly, giggling just a little in her  
  
sleep as Sam slipped her shoes and socks off.  
  
Sam could not suppress a grin, "Ticklish, huh?" he said  
  
quietly as he turned back to look at her face, which looked  
  
a little more peacefull. "Sorry," he whispered as he kissed  
  
her cheek.  
  
"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full  
  
of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him  
  
at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman."  
  
Meanwhile... Starkweather twitched... dreaming.  
  
Later...  
  
The Mayor's office  
  
City Hall  
  
Washington DC  
  
The Admiral sunk into the Mayor's comfortable leather sofa.  
  
He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. The Mayor  
  
went to his little private wet bar and prepared two stiff  
  
drinks. "I made you a double, Jeremy," he said, handing him  
  
the glass.  
  
The Admiral took a long pull from the glass, letting Dr.  
  
Jack Daniels work his miracle cure. "Deputy Director Kersh  
  
seems to have forgotten himself," he mumbled.  
  
"I'll say... Jesus, Jeremy... I thought you said you have  
  
control over him?"  
  
The Admiral shook his head miserably. "Control is an  
  
illusion. I haven't had control over anything for the past  
  
twenty-eight years." He turned to look at an ashen-faced  
  
Mayor. "Oh relax," he chuckled. "I still have the power to  
  
destory Kersh's career if push comes to shove. The gun just  
  
surprised me though. So not Kersh's style. He's not really  
  
into blatant threats, just slithering innuedos, like a  
  
rattlesnake sliding through the desert sands, waiting for a  
  
victim to pounce on."  
  
The Mayor took a swallow of liquid courage before  
  
continuing. "Jeremy," he said seriously. "I don't know what  
  
you've gotten yourself into, what you've been involved with  
  
for the past thirty years. I don't know what strings you  
  
pulled to get me this position. And now the strings you  
  
pulled are going to strangle me."  
  
The Admiral looked at his old friend. "I never meant to get  
  
you involved this deeply."  
  
"This deeply! Do you realize what I stand to lose?" The  
  
Mayor looked out of the window at the city below him. "My  
  
job... my family... Jesus, I have my daughter to think of."  
  
"I have my daughter to think of as well," The Admiral  
  
retorted hotly.  
  
"YOUR daughter?" The Admiral turned to face him. "YOUR  
  
daughter?" He snorted with ironic laughter. "I hired  
  
Mulder, as a favor, to you, to protect YOUR daughter. Now,  
  
this man, who I actually like and respect very much; this  
  
same man you begged him to find the truth to protect YOUR  
  
daughter, is rotting in jail for something we both know he  
  
damn well didn't do to once again, protect YOUR daughter."  
  
"If I didn't help set Mulder up, Jerilyn would be dead. I  
  
don't know how they figured out I went to Mulder and Scully  
  
for help, but they did and they threatened to kill Jerilyn.  
  
They almost succeeded twice before. I didn't want to find  
  
out that the third time was going to be the charm so,  
  
against my better judgement, I went along with it... and  
  
sacrificed not only Mulder... but my son-in-law in the  
  
process."  
  
The Mayor went to the Admiral and took his glass. As he  
  
prepared two double strength Jack and Cokes, he asked  
  
quietly, "Jeremy... you know... and I know that Benjamin  
  
Starkweather isn't dead."  
  
The Admiral jerked his head up. "How did you find out?"  
  
The Mayor handed his friend, his buddy from the nightmarish  
  
haze that was Vietnam, whose life he saved, who had been  
  
trying to repay him for his heroic deed ever since. "I have  
  
a dirty cop on the take. A Detective Somerset. The Chief  
  
and I have been after him for years. But he's worse than  
  
Teflon. Anyway, two and a half years ago, we assigned  
  
Carillo to go on deep undercover on this case we've been  
  
building against Somerset. For two years, Somerset has been  
  
buddy-buddy with Carillo and have been absolutely  
  
clueless."  
  
"Carillo is good," The Admiral mumbled.  
  
"Carillo is VERY good," The Mayor agreed. "But he hadn't  
  
been able to get anything on Sommerset. Until today..." The  
  
Mayor sat on his desk, folded his arms. "Right before we  
  
went to our happy meeting with Deputy Director Snakebite, I  
  
got a call from Carillo. He thought it was a little fishy  
  
that Somerset had such a hard-on for Mulder..."  
  
The Mayor took another sip of his drink before continuing.  
  
"Especially since all the evidence was circumstantial.  
  
Especially since all the evidence is still circumstantial.  
  
No matter how many judges that little sh*t Justin Leo has  
  
up his sleeve, the DA is MY friend and she is drooling for  
  
a judgeship," The Admiral looked up at his friend in  
  
surprise but the Mayor kept talking,"She would not allow  
  
herself to be made a fool of and bring a weak case to  
  
trial, especially if she knows that bringing Mulder to full  
  
trial would piss me off. She knows the case is too full of  
  
holes. Motive yes, but she has to rely on the word of two  
  
drugged-out car thieves, she has no murder weapon and the  
  
accused spent the night at Agent Scully's. The DA would  
  
plead-bargain it and get him off with time served."  
  
"How does Somerset fit in?" The Admiral asked wearily.  
  
"Somerset is caught on tape," The Mayor took a security cam  
  
tape out of his briefcase. "Carillo's got a copy, the  
  
Chief's got a copy, the morgue... Washington Hospital  
  
reported theft of a body... a burn victim... from their  
  
morgue late last night..." the Mayor said smoothly, "know  
  
anything about it?"  
  
The Admiral hung his head. "So that's where the body came  
  
from."  
  
The Mayor leaned forward. "It's only a matter of time,  
  
Jeremy. Carillo doesn't think Mulder's guilty, he's using  
  
the man as a front to get to Somerset to get to the man  
  
he's working for. Somerset's under twenty-four hour  
  
survelliance, Leo is a heartbeat away from getting  
  
disbarred, the evidence is mounting, Carillo is ready to  
  
pounce."  
  
"The minute Carillo pounces, both Jerilyn and Ben are  
  
dead," the Admiral protested.  
  
"The minute Carillo pounces, EVERYTHING comes out in the  
  
open and I'm out of a job. If I'm out, Mulder is out too."  
  
The Mayor sighed. "And to think... I helped the Chief start  
  
his undercover campaign for Somerset. Now it's going to  
  
bite me in the ass... unless you and I find a way to solve  
  
this, quickly and quietly."  
  
"You don't know these people," the Admiral said quietly.  
  
"Then you better give me a crash course," the Mayor said  
  
firmly. "Because I am not going to lose the job that I love  
  
or risk the well-being of my family because I allowed  
  
myself not to be educated about the risks."  
  
"The best defense you can take," the Admiral said. "Is to  
  
stay out of it and let me take care of this. These people  
  
are ruthless. Twelve years ago, I threatened to blow their  
  
conspiracy to the media and let the press try them." The  
  
Admiral was very quiet for a moment. "They killed  
  
Lynnette."  
  
The Mayor looked confused. "I thought your first wife died  
  
of cancer?"  
  
The Admiral glared at him, "They killed Lynnette," he  
  
repeated himself. "And they promised me if I played by  
  
their rules, not only would I have all the political clout  
  
I could ever dream off, but Jerilyn would not be harmed."  
  
"Looks like they're not keeping up with their end of the  
  
bargain if they're still after her." The Admiral fell  
  
silent again. The Mayor cleared his throat. "Look, say what  
  
you want, but I'm in this up to my neck. I'm not staying  
  
out so I need you to tell me the truth."  
  
"What truth is that?"  
  
The Mayor ran his fingers through his hair. "Jeremy... you  
  
know I love Jerilyn too... I watched her grow up, I was at  
  
her wedding, she was bright as a button as a kid and she's  
  
grew up to be a pretty great person but... Jeremy... admit  
  
it... she's not exactly..." he searched for an appropriate  
  
word, "normal? I guess? Am I right?"  
  
"You are right," he said slowly. "Jerilyn is very special."  
  
"Jeremy... buddy... who's daughter is she?"  
  
County Jail  
  
DC  
  
***********  
  
Mulder sat after the trial with a degected expression on  
  
his face.  
  
"Tough day man?" Manny asked sympathetically.  
  
"Well...they set bail at this insane amount, so there's no  
  
way I'm getting out before the trial."  
  
"You got a lawyer?"  
  
"Yeah...I've got this guy who offered to take the case for  
  
free--"  
  
"Oh...one of them spring chickens who need a case."  
  
"Not quite..." Mulder said with a heavy sigh, "He offered  
  
my services for his."  
  
"What do you do?"  
  
"I'm an FBI agent." Mulder said disinterestedly.  
  
"Really? I guess lawyers need protection." Manny remarked  
  
flatly.  
  
"So what do you do?"  
  
"A little of this, a little of that...mostly I'm in  
  
agricultural enhancement." Manny shrugged.  
  
"When my partner and I were off my division, we were placed  
  
dealing with shit...literally."  
  
"Manuer?" Manny finished incredulously.  
  
"Yep...the powers that be tried to shut our division down,  
  
and they sent us on the crap cases...investigating farms  
  
and manuer and stuff."  
  
"Oh man...that stinks."  
  
"No pun intended, huh?"  
  
"Right..."  
  
"Well, believe what you want, but it's the truth. I've  
  
investigated conspiracies, aliens, freaks of nature..."  
  
"That's just plain bizarr-o, man."  
  
"No...that liver-eating mutant...*that* was bizarr-o."  
  
"Hombre, you're a nice guy, so I'm gonna tell you this for  
  
your own good. Lay off the science fiction flicks."  
  
"Oh man...science fiction makes up half my video  
  
collection!" Mulder announced excitedly.  
  
"What makes up the other half?"  
  
"Porn." Mulder answered flatly.  
  
"No kidding!" Manny whispered. "That's scary..."  
  
"Not half as scary as this smoking guy who has the FBI  
  
under his thumb."  
  
"What's the dude's name?"  
  
"Doesn't have one." Mulder said shaking his head, "We just  
  
call him the Smoking Man...evil doesn't need a name to be  
  
identified."  
  
Later that night  
  
Martha's Vineyard  
  
The Admiral, carrying a duffle bag and a small bag of  
  
groceries, let himself into his summer house he hadn't been  
  
to in over fifteen years. However, he made a tidy little  
  
profit by renting it out to vacationers. He knew that it  
  
was going to be empty for the next two weeks before the new  
  
renters came down to escape from the pressures of the city.  
  
Plus, he could take a look-see to make sure it was still in  
  
pristine condition... which, naturally as he only rented it  
  
out to extremely wealthy people, it was. Plus, his current  
  
wife, the Honorable Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, United States  
  
Senator for Arizona, used it quite often to entertain  
  
guests and potential political allies. She always double-  
  
checked to make sure it was in shipshape condition.  
  
The Admiral knew a pang of guilt. Not only has he not  
  
called his daughter, but his wife. He liked Jenny, they had  
  
always been friends but they did not married because of  
  
unbridled passion for eachother. They needed to form an  
  
alliance, so, much like ancient Rome, where men wed their  
  
friends' daughters to earn their respect and support, the  
  
Admiral and Jenny married eachother so they could both reap  
  
the benefits of their political clout. And with a  
  
Republican president in the White House, Jenny's clout  
  
increased tenfold.  
  
But even Jenny was on a leash. Jenny's power would remain  
  
as long as she voted the way THEY wanted her to vote. So  
  
she did. She lobbied hard against ethanol, alienating  
  
herself from the Iowan senators whose state economies  
  
depended on the fuel from corn to sustain their small  
  
state. But Jenny wouldn't budge. If the country went from  
  
petroleum to ethanol, it would become increasingly  
  
difficult to smuggle the lethal black oil into the country.  
  
If ethanol was approved and became mainstream... the oil  
  
company that Doggett and Mulder risked their lives on and  
  
which Kersh received healthy dividends on would lose their  
  
contracts with the military bases... military bases who  
  
coincidentally had planes go off radar and crash miles and  
  
miles and miles off target... such as the plane  
  
Starkweather, Scully and Doggett investigated in Scotland  
  
just a month and a half ago....  
  
The Admiral closed his eyes. I am doing the right thing,  
  
I am doing the right thing he told himself as he put his  
  
groceries away in the kitchen.  
  
But his mind's eye betrayed him and replayed a scene from  
  
the not-so-distant past  
  
A month and a half ago...  
  
The Admiral's house  
  
Sedona, Arizona  
  
"So, you met Deputy Mayor Mulder," he got right to the  
  
point.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What did you think?"  
  
"He's insane... Was any of the horseshit the Deputy Mayor  
  
told me true?"  
  
"I really wished he hadn't told you anything."  
  
"Was any of that horseshit true? Yes or no, Daddy?"  
  
The Admiral shifted in his chair. "I did summon Agent  
  
Scully and Deputy Mayor Mulder to dig into your past to  
  
discover what really happened to you as a child, yes."  
  
She repeated to him what she had said to Mulder "Did it  
  
ever cross your mind that I don't want to know?"  
  
"I had counted on that."  
  
"Okay, Dad, I really don't get this. In the same breath,  
  
you said you asked Scully and Mulder to get the true story  
  
about my childhood but at the same time, banking on the  
  
fact that I don't want to know? What???" She dropped her  
  
hands into her face. "I get promoted to the X-Files and  
  
instead of working on the cases, I become one of the  
  
cases?" To temper her anger with humor, she said "That will  
  
not look good on my resume."  
  
The Admiral laughed. She had begun to develop her biting  
  
sarcasm around the age of twelve. Lynnette had tried to  
  
curb her daughter's blooming acerbic humor, but the Admiral  
  
had secretly it. When Lynnette passed away, only the drill  
  
sergeant had the power to still her tongue, but only during  
  
the trauma of Basic Training. Once she made the return to  
  
"real life", the pent up sarcasm erupted.  
  
"Dad, I'm serious," she said. "Look what happened to  
  
Mulder. I don't want to be forced out of the FBI because of  
  
little green men. Yeah, okay, so I'm investigating  
  
paranormal and other weirdness now, but Dad, how can I do  
  
my job when people are questioning my credibility because  
  
they think I a nutcake alien abductee?"  
  
"We don't know that for sure."  
  
"Mulder seems to think so."  
  
"It's a possibility that I've asked Mulder to explore," the  
  
Admiral admitted slowly.  
  
"What? Dad, no. You can not be serious." Starkweather  
  
bounded out of her chair in anger. "Dad, I do not want that  
  
man involved in my life whatsoever. I don't want all of  
  
this. ANY of this. Please," she knelt by his side, her big  
  
eyes gazing up him, pleading. "Daddy, whatever influence  
  
you used to start this, please stop it. Please let me live  
  
a normal life. If I am," she rolled her eyes in disbelief  
  
that these words were about to leave her mouth, "an alien  
  
abductee or experiment, whatever, I don't want to know.  
  
Okay? Please get Mulder out of my life. Please let me live  
  
like everyone else."  
  
"But angel, you're not like everyone else and you KNOW  
  
that," he said insistently, gripping her small hand.  
  
Starkweather didn't pull away. "My God, Jerilyn, you  
  
learned by ear to play Bach's "Goldberg Variations'  
  
flawlessly on the piano when you were seven years old.  
  
You've always been special and people want you dead because  
  
of it. Baby, even if I wanted to stop this, I can't. This  
  
is so much bigger than you and me and your private life.  
  
There's so much you don't understand!"  
  
"Then TELL me! For Christ's sake, Dad, I'm not a little  
  
girl anymore! I haven't been one for a very long time. I'm  
  
old enough to have had a military career, complete a  
  
medical degree, go through FBI training. I'm old enough to  
  
be a federal agent who willingly puts her life on the line  
  
every damn day. I'm old enough to be someone's wife. I'm  
  
old enough to have carried and lost a child. Dad, if I'm  
  
old enough to be, to have all of that," Starkweather  
  
gripped his hand, "then I'm old enough to hear the truth on  
  
why you went behind my back to have an unwanted  
  
investigation about my childhood, only to have me find out  
  
from someone I completely and totally hate? Do you know who  
  
Fox Mulder is? He's the man that upset Mom so bad a few  
  
days before her death? He's so blinded by his quest, he  
  
couldn't even let a suffering woman die in peace. So you  
  
tell me, you tell me right now, what the hell is going on  
  
and why are you treating me like an idiot child?"  
  
The Admiral looked down at her with genuine tears in his  
  
eyes. "Because, even though you're a retired Airman, even  
  
though you're a doctor, even though you're a highly  
  
competent and exceptional FBI agent, even though you're  
  
married and even though you and Ben will someday have  
  
grandchildren for me." Starkweather laughed a little, but  
  
only a little. "You're still my little girl. Even when," he  
  
stroked her pretty hair with a trembling hand, "God willing  
  
that I live long enough, you hair turns gray, I'm still  
  
going to see you with hair ribbons and curls. Yes, I used  
  
my politic influence to investigate what sick monster  
  
could... do what they did to you. But I went behind your  
  
back, hoping you wouldn't find out, so you COULD live a  
  
normal life. Because a normal life is what you deserve,  
  
because a normal life was a luxury you never had as a  
  
child. Angel," he touched her face. "Even to this day, I  
  
still get death-threats, not for me. For you."  
  
Starkweather felt twin tears slip down her cheeks. "But why  
  
me? What did I do?"  
  
"It's not what you did. It's what you are."  
  
"So, what am I?"  
  
"That's what I asked Mulder and Scully to find out. That's  
  
why..." he paused, debating whether or not to tell her,  
  
deciding to confess, "that's why I had Jenny pull strings  
  
to get you transferred to the X-Files. Jerilyn, listen to  
  
me," he said urgently. "All of this," he waved his hand  
  
around, indicating his garden, his house, his wealth, his  
  
being. "All of this, means nothing if anything happens to  
  
you. I've told you all I can tell you. Anything more,  
  
endangers your life even more. Hate Mulder all you want,  
  
but let him help you," he insisted. "If not for yourself,  
  
but for me, for Benjamin, for everyone who loves you and  
  
whose world would collapse without you in it," his voice  
  
cracked at the end of his speech...  
  
(From Starkweather: Introitus)  
  
"But why me? What did I do?"  
  
Sitting on the porch, alone not even the roars of the ocean  
  
at sunset could banish his daughter's broken voice from the  
  
Admiral's ears. ears. "Angel, I don't know... but I'm going  
  
to find out... and I'll get Ben home to you... I just don't  
  
know how yet..."  
  
He didn't know how much time on the big clock was left for  
  
either Mulder or Ben. He knew he had taken a big risk going  
  
to Mulder to ask him to help him protect Jerilyn but he was  
  
running out of options. Mulder had been the logical answer.  
  
But the Admiral had a sinking feeling that it was only a  
  
matter of time before the Syndicate would wise up, stop  
  
playing Austin Powers/Dr. Evil World Domination games with  
  
Mulder and just kill him off for good. Ben, on the other  
  
hand, was a different story. He was a civillian in this  
  
war, the classic case of wrong place, wrong time.  
  
But I don't even know where to look or where he is he  
  
mourned to himself. And I don't know where else to go for  
  
help. He turned his head to pop his neck and looked over  
  
at the little bungalow a few yards away... the answer hit  
  
him... "Scully..." he said aloud.  
  
He had been good friends with Agent Scully's father while  
  
they were both in the Navy. They had been stationed at the  
  
same time in San Diego and on the recommendation of another  
  
mutual friend of theirs, vacationed out at Martha's  
  
Vineyards one fine summer. The Admiral smiled as he  
  
remembered the good times... little Dana Scully, dirty and  
  
barefooted, running after her hulking brothers on the  
  
beach, just to prove she could keep up with the boys.  
  
Maggie Scully and Lynnette sitting on the porch, either  
  
playing cards or working on various sewing projects;  
  
Lynnette was always making fancy quilts or frilly dresses  
  
for Jeri, when Jeri would wear frilly dresses while Maggie  
  
patched the boys and Dana's torn jeans and overhauls. He  
  
and William Scully would usually get the boat out and go  
  
deep sea fishing together, talking shop and talking about  
  
family life. And Melissa Scully, luminous and spiritual  
  
even at that tender age, would stay and watch the baby  
  
Jeri. In fact, Jeri's first words were not "mama" or "dada"  
  
but "Missy."  
  
The smile faded from the Admiral's lips.... just two miles  
  
away from here was the Mulder summer home, where a thirteen  
  
year old Fox Mulder struggled through his first summer  
  
without his sister, not realizing how close he was to his  
  
future partner who, at the time, was a grubby little  
  
tomboy. Neither Dana, nor her brothers nor her parents, nor  
  
Lynnette and certainly not little Jeri knew what the future  
  
held. Teena Mulder and her son certainly did not know what  
  
was going to happen either... but the Admiral did. And Bill  
  
Mulder did. Bill Mulder was the one who clued him on what  
  
the future held.  
  
The Admiral went inside and went to the picture hanging  
  
over the fireplace. He took it down and turned it around.  
  
Taking his pocket knife out, he flipped it open and cut  
  
down the back of it. A letter, hidden for twenty-seven  
  
years fell out. He picked up the letter and unfolded it...  
  
reading it for the first time in almost three decades.  
  
He placed it on the coffee table, partially hiding it under  
  
some magazines. He would call Dana Scully tomorrow. He  
  
would invite her here in the guise of helping her clear  
  
Mulder's name when actually, she would be helping him save  
  
Jerilyn and Ben's life.  
  
After Lynnette's death, Jerilyn was all that he had  
  
...a couple of hours later in the same Jail cell...  
  
****************************************************  
  
"...you like porn huh?" Mulder asked.  
  
"What guy doesn't?" Manny returned.  
  
"You ever see Forrest Hump?"  
  
"Space Kittens From Mars..."  
  
"Yeah. Oooohhhhh...I didn't know that position was humanly  
  
possible..."  
  
"Don't laugh, but I got the most hard ones off of Madonna's  
  
Erotica." Manny said sheepishly.  
  
Bwaahahahaha. Was all Mulder contributed to the rest of  
  
that conversation. He was still bursting out laughing when  
  
Scully approached.  
  
Manny and Mulder both exchanged glances and bursted out  
  
laughing.  
  
"Mulder...I'm glad you two howler Monkeys find me so  
  
amusing..." Scully started flatly.  
  
"Monkeys!" Manny blurted out, sending the two into fits of  
  
laughter.  
  
"Mulder...I can come back another time if this isn't  
  
working." Scully said crossly.  
  
"Scully...I'm sorry," Mulder tried to apologize whiping  
  
tears of laughter away from his eyes. "Hey Manny, this is  
  
my partner, Scully. Scully, Manny the Illegal Alien"  
  
Scully was not amused. "Manny, do you think you can give us  
  
a little privacy here, man."  
  
"Sure, I'll uh, make myself scarce here."  
  
"Thanks, Manny." Scully said. "Glad to see your playing  
  
nice with your roommates Mulder." Scully said with a slight  
  
grin.  
  
"Where's Boo?"  
  
"It's after 9 oclock at night, Mulder, he's sleeping. I  
  
left Reyes with him."  
  
"Scully, what color license plate do you want? I've been  
  
looking at the activity schedule, and we've got poetry  
  
coming up..."  
  
"Mulder..." Scully said, taking his hand through the bars,  
  
"you're innocent. You're going to be home next week.  
  
Skinner, Doggett and I have already got leads we're looking  
  
into and we'll find out who really did this."  
  
"Well, that's good, Scully, because orange is not my  
  
color." He smirked.  
  
"Don't do this, Mulder...please...no jokes. We're doing  
  
everything humanly and nonhumanly possible to get you out  
  
of this. Just hang in there, alright?"  
  
"You better, I don't think a jail is a good place to bring  
  
Will. I mean, no offense Manny, but you wouldn't make the  
  
best Uncle."  
  
"I don't think the Lone Gunmen are a good enfluence on him  
  
either, but I still let them come over." Scully said with a  
  
small smile. "I'm not going to let them keep you here for  
  
long. Don't forget that."  
  
"Scully, you and Will are my freedom." He said softly,  
  
carressing her face.  
  
"I'll bring a barfbag when I come next time." Scully said  
  
with a slight smile, voice quivering and eyes tearing.  
  
"Scully, this place has so much potential for us here."  
  
Mulder was saying, "I mean...bars...handcuffs...public  
  
place...this is a 900 caller's fantasy."  
  
"Mulder you better watch it, if you take a cold shower  
  
around here you hafta take it with some ex-con named  
  
Barry."  
  
"Oooohh...people watching us...Scully! You little sex-  
  
kitten! I didn't know you had it in you!" Mulder teased.  
  
Mulder, don't think I won't be able to kick your *ss from  
  
here." Scully threatened.  
  
"Oooohhh, S&M...even kinkier!" Mulder smirked.  
  
"Mulder..." Scully said, sighing defeatedly.  
  
"This is nothing, Scully...just wait...a month down the  
  
road with no women around...unless you count Klinger  
  
impersonators."  
  
"Mulder, before me how long had it been since you were  
  
laid? Ten years?" Scully returned.  
  
"Yeah, well...chasing little gray men and mutants kept me  
  
from dating. How about you? You didn't have much of a sex  
  
life before me, either...that vampire with the bucked  
  
teeth?"  
  
"He did NOT have bucked teeth!" Scully protested.  
  
"Yeah...neither did bugs bunny."  
  
"Two words for you Mulder...Diana Fowley" Scully said with  
  
a grin.  
  
"Two words for you Scully...Daniel Waterson." Mulder  
  
retorted. Scully was opened and shut her mouth a couple of  
  
times before she realized that Mulder was going to have the  
  
last word.  
  
"Cheap shot, Mulder." Scully admonished.  
  
"Yeah well...you must be losing it, Scully...'cheap shot'  
  
is the best comeback you can think of?" Mulder taunted.  
  
"It's late..." Scully began.  
  
"Yeah...you better get back, I bet Boo misses his Mommy."  
  
"He misses you too, you know." She said softly  
  
"Yeah...I know..." Mulder croaked.  
  
"What's that noise?" Scully said as she heard sniffling in  
  
the corner.  
  
"I think someone forgot to turn off the waterworks." Mulder  
  
said in his monotone.  
  
"You guhihihis...you're like...Boggie and  
  
Becall...better....*sniff!* than Boggie and Becall"  
  
*Bogie and Becall?* Mulder mouthed to Scully.  
  
"You know, they both want to be together *sniff!* but they  
  
can't. It's soo beeeeeeeeautiful *Pfffffmmmmmmmmmt* said  
  
Manny blowing his nose.  
  
"Scully!" Mulder begged with desperation.  
  
"Mulder, you two were getting along. Why...of all the  
  
offices...in all of Washington, did you hafta walk into  
  
mine..."  
  
"Uhhhh...you walked into mine, Scully." Mulder retorted.  
  
"Mulder, do a Bogie impression and I'll kick your ass."  
  
"Scully...just get me outta here, please." He pleaded  
  
almost in jest.  
  
"Don't hold your breath, Bogie, I've got Dolf Lundren  
  
waiting at the airport for me." she said with a sly grin on  
  
her face and with that, decided to leave.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
The Lone Gunman's Lair  
  
Langly, the insomniac, was the one who noticed the  
  
persistent knocking on the door. Byers, not a night owl by  
  
nature, escaped to the small room in their secret compound  
  
that he had commandeered as his private bedroom. Frohike,  
  
meanwhile, had fallen asleep at his computer console,  
  
mumbling incoherently in his sleep.  
  
Langley continued to work on by himself for a little while,  
  
but eventually, frustrated by his lack of progress, gave up  
  
and hopped online to play "EverQuest."  
  
So deeply into the game, it took a little while for Langley  
  
to notice the knocking on the door, but eventually it got  
  
loud enough to annoy him. Langley checked out the video  
  
monitor that fed him images of the outside world. A figure,  
  
dressed in a long black trench coat and wearing a black hat  
  
was persistently pounded on the dress.  
  
Langley licked his lips. He may look like a scrawny chicken  
  
man, but he was just as brave as Mulder or Doggett... when  
  
he had to be. He picked up a wrench and went to the door.  
  
Clenching the wrench tightly in his hands, he called out,  
  
as intimidating as he could with his nasally voice "Who's  
  
there?"  
  
The knocking stopped. Langley stood there for at least five  
  
minutes. He turned back to check the monitor. There was no  
  
one there, but there was a package on the doorstep.  
  
Langley put the wrench down and went to Frohike: "Dude,  
  
wake up."  
  
Frohike murmured "Dana... my pet..."  
  
"Oh BARF," Langley groaned. He shook Frohike awake. "Dude,  
  
GET UP. I need your help."  
  
"Huh?" Frohike joined the world of the living. "Langly,  
  
what the sam hell are you doing?"  
  
Langly filled him in. "I'll cover your back, you get the  
  
package."  
  
"Wait a minute, why should I have to go out? YOU go out  
  
there and I'll cover your back."  
  
They argued like that, wasting more time until Langly said:  
  
"Let's get Byers to get the package."  
  
"Now you're thinking," Frohike went to wake Byers.  
  
Byers, in a black t-shirt and blue boxer shorts with purple  
  
and green polka dots stumbled out after Frohike. Yawning  
  
enormously, he asked. "Wha'?"  
  
"Get the box that's on the doorstep," Langley told him,  
  
picking up the wrench again. Frohike found a dusty, never  
  
used tennis racket and poised by the door, ready.  
  
Made stupid by lack of sleep Byers mumbled, "Oh, okay."  
  
Langley unlocked the door and threw it open. Byers stepped  
  
out, picked up the box and carried it inside without  
  
incident. Langley slammed the door shut and locked it.  
  
Starting to wake up a bit, Byers asked "What is this?"  
  
"We don't know," Langly said and he filled him in on what  
  
he saw.  
  
Which woke Byers up completely. "You-you-you l-let me go  
  
out there!!!" he sputtered furiously.  
  
"Hey, buddy, we had your back," Frohike said as Langley got  
  
out a stethoscope and a small metal detector.  
  
Langley swept the metal detector over the box without  
  
getting so much as a crackle. He then listened to its  
  
contents with the stethoscope. "Nada," he concluded. "It  
  
ain't a bomb." He reached into one of their many junk  
  
drawers and pulled out an exactor knife. "I'm gonna open  
  
it."  
  
"If Gwyneth Paltrow's head is in there, I'm gonna puke,"  
  
Frohike mumbled.  
  
"Shh," Byers hushed him, scratching his beard as Langley  
  
put on a pair of latex gloves before starting his work.  
  
Langly carefully cut through the paper wrapping and sliced  
  
through the duct tape that kept the box shut. Uneasily he  
  
opened the box lid. "Oh man..."  
  
"What?" Byers asked as he and Frohike came closer. "What is  
  
it?"  
  
"Well, it ain't Gwyneth Paltrow's head... but there's  
  
blood."  
  
"Blood?" Byers instantly paled.  
  
Langly lifted out two plastic vials of blood. "What the  
  
fuck, man?" Langly quailed.  
  
Frohike adjusted his glasses and peered at the vials. "They  
  
look like blood samples... like from a hospital," he  
  
observed. "They're labeled too... I can't read 'em from  
  
this far away, what do they say?" he stood on tiptoe to try  
  
to get a better look while Byers put a pair of latex gloves  
  
on his shaking hands.  
  
Langly put one vial down. He read the label on the vial he  
  
held to himself. "What the fuck...?" he repeated as Byers  
  
took the vial Langly had put down.  
  
"What IS it, Blondo?" Frohike snapped.  
  
"Mulder," Langly read, "Fox, William."  
  
"WHAT?" Frohike exclaimed.  
  
"And this one reads, Starkweather, Jerilyn M.B." Byers  
  
said.  
  
"I don't get it," Langley said. "What the hell is someone  
  
doing sending up *blood*, an' Mulder and Starkweather's  
  
blood, of all things?"  
  
"And how do we know if it's really theirs?" Byers reasoned.  
  
"We could very well be set up on a wild goose chase."  
  
"We compare it with other DNA samples." Frohike went to the  
  
closet and pulled out the coat he had been wearing the  
  
first and last time he had been to the Starkweathers. He  
  
pulled off a long blond strand of hair that had clung to  
  
his coat via static electricity. "Girl sheds like a cat,"  
  
he grunted, putting the hair into a jar. "Almost two months  
  
later and I'm still picking her hair off of my clothes."  
  
"Alright," Byers said. "But what do we have of Mulder's  
  
that was can test against?"  
  
The Lone Gunmen pondered for a bit. Then Langly remembered  
  
something. "His puke!"  
  
"WHAT??" Byers and Frohike asked in unison.  
  
"Remember after our... um... unsuccessful visit to the  
  
Starkweathers, Mulder had gotten sick," Langly went on.  
  
"When we got 'im to Scully's, he threw up on her shoes.  
  
Well, some of the barf got onto some of my clothes too...  
  
wait a minute..." and he bounded off.  
  
Frohike grumbled. "No wonder this place stinks."  
  
Byers, meanwhile busied himself, examining the box.  
  
"There's an envelope in here," he said, taking it out.  
  
Langley came out again, holding a pair of jeans and one  
  
sock, stained with vomit. Frohike sniffed and gagged.  
  
"Gross."  
  
"Do you think it will work?" Langley asked. "I mean...  
  
these stains are pretty old."  
  
"Just think how old the stains were on Monica Lewinsky's  
  
dress," Frohike pointed out, holding his nose. "It should  
  
work."  
  
"Guys, listen to this," Byers said, reading the letter he  
  
had taken out of the envelope:  
  
The truth is not out there  
  
It's in here.  
  
"And these two color photo copies were enclosed with the  
  
letter," Byers laid the last two pages on the counter top.  
  
"Pictures of kids?" Frohike asked, looking at the  
  
photocopies.  
  
"Not just any kids," Byers said, pointing to the typewriter  
  
names and dates on the pages.  
  
"Holy shit," Langley said, looking at the picture of the  
  
little boy. "Fox Mulder, September 15, 1969."  
  
Frohike read aloud the name and date on the picture of the  
  
little girl. "Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather, September 8,  
  
1981." He looked up. "Pictures of Mulder and Starkweather  
  
when they were age 8."  
  
"Are we sure it's really pics of them?" Langly asked even  
  
though they all knew the answer. It was undeniable. The  
  
little boy had a small birthmark on his face in the same  
  
place Mulder did. The little girl's nose was crinkled in  
  
amusement the same way Starkweather's did when she was  
  
privately laughing at some joke.  
  
"And look at this," Byers, using his hands, covered up the  
  
long braids that hung down, in front of Starkweather's  
  
ears.  
  
Langley and Frohike looked. "Holy Jesus Christ on a Pogo  
  
Stick," Langley burst out.  
  
"Looks like the same kid, doesn't it?" Byers said. He  
  
picked up Starkweather's vial of blood. "Make some coffee,  
  
Langley," he said with a sigh. "Looks like we're going to  
  
have a long night."  
  
******************  
  
The figure in the black trench coat had waited patiently in  
  
the shadows until the tall man with the beard came out and  
  
picked up their gift from her. Only then did she slip into  
  
her car, take off her hat, shaking her platinum blonde hair  
  
out of its bun and drove away without looking back.  
  
Marita Covarubias knew that these men had helped the X-  
  
Files in the past. She knew that they would get conclusive  
  
proof of the truth that the Cancer Man had desperately  
  
tried to hide. She knew she was endangering the project  
  
with the truth, but she had motive. She had been scorned by  
  
the Cancer Man and hell hath no fury...  
  
The Syndicate had been running fine until the old man  
  
seized control again. Now they were back in the olden days  
  
of long drawn out conspiracies and complicated plans and  
  
other such foolishness. Like keeping Ben Starkweather  
  
alive. This idiotic plan of planting a fake body, forging  
  
the dental records and trying to entice Ben into working  
  
for them was ridiculous. But, as usual, CSM wasn't  
  
listening to anybody and everyone else was too scared to  
  
stand up to him, herself included.  
  
Eventually, Mulder and Starkweather would have to be taken  
  
out... but first, let them to the dirty work of distracting  
  
the Cancer Man. Maybe they'll even get lucky and do what  
  
she and Krycek couldn't... which was wipe him out.  
  
Permanently.  
  
Starkweather dreamt she was in a kitchen of a modest one  
  
story, three bedroom home with a large front yard and an  
  
even bigger backyard. Big enough for a small vegetable  
  
garden, a swingset, a playhouse and a flower bed.  
  
She dreamt she was standing at the counter, slicing  
  
vegetables from her garden for a salad as she talked on the  
  
phone. "That would be awesome if you could do that... as  
  
long as you don't care... let me ask..." she turned around  
  
to look at the little girl playing with a kitten at the  
  
kitchen table, "Bailey," she said firmly, "what did we say  
  
about animals on the table?"  
  
The little girl looked up at her with brilliantly beautiful  
  
blue eyes "We said no animals on the kitchen table," she  
  
said sliding the kitten off the table into her lap.  
  
"Alright then, say..." she softened her tone, "your Aunt  
  
Dana called, she wants to know if you and your brother want  
  
to spend the night at their house and watch movies."  
  
"Can I watch movies then come home?" the little girl asked  
  
hopefully.  
  
"You don't want to sleep over?" Starkweather asked her.  
  
The little girl shook her head. "Fox might miss me," she  
  
said, hugging her kitten tightly, nearly squishing him. The  
  
kitten looked up at Starkweather as if to say "Kill me  
  
now."  
  
"Honey, you're going to squeeze the life out of him,  
  
remember, he's only a baby, hold him like a baby, hold on  
  
Scully," she said into the phone before she put it down to  
  
teach her daughter how to hold a kitten. "That's better.  
  
Well... if you don't want to spend the night, I suppose you  
  
don't have too. Why don't you and..." she grimaced as she  
  
said the kitten's name "*Fox* go play in the back yard  
  
until your dad comes home." Bailey, carefully cradling the  
  
kitten in her arms, scampered out. "Well, Bailey doesn't  
  
want to spend the night because she wants to spend time  
  
with her new kitten... did Mulder get the thank you card  
  
from her? Okay... good...... sure, I can send Will home for  
  
you. I'll talk to you later, bye..."  
  
She left the kitchen and went to the front door and yelled  
  
at two little boys tearing around on their bikes. "WILL!!!  
  
YOUR MOM CALLED!!! SHE WANTS YOU TO COME HOME... AND JB....  
  
YOU COME IN AND GET CLEANED UP BEFORE YOUR DAD GETS  
  
HOME!!!"  
  
A descolate voice called back "Oh... alright..."  
  
Before going back to the kitchen, Starkweather paused in  
  
front of the mirror over the fireplace of her cluttered  
  
living room, constantly littered with toys and books. She  
  
had tried to keep it neat, but with a pair of active and  
  
michevious twins... it was impossible so she gave up. She  
  
took her glasses off and examined the crow's feet at her  
  
eyes. She couldn't help but notice just a touch of silver  
  
in her shoulder length brown hair. She wondered if she  
  
should start dying her hair again but really didn't want  
  
to.  
  
She sure couldn't pose as a teenager anymore, but she still  
  
did not really look her age. She looked to be late  
  
twenties, early thirties, not staring forty straight in the  
  
face.  
  
She had just started to slice up the rest of the cucumbers  
  
when she heard a familiar voice yell out over the slamming  
  
of the door. "Doc? I'm home!"  
  
Starkweather rinsed her hands and walked out into the  
  
living room, drying her hands on a dishtowel that has seen  
  
better days.  
  
It was undeniable that the little boy was hers. He had a  
  
moptop of dark brown hair and a pair of sparkling hazel  
  
eyes like her own. With a huge gap-tooth smile, he started  
  
up at his father.  
  
Starkweather gasped when she looked at the man who's hand  
  
the boy was holdng. He was tall, broad shouldered, with  
  
straight dish-water blond hair save for one lone lock of  
  
hair that had gone completely gray. He had kind eyes. But  
  
he was not her children's father.  
  
She snatched the boy away from him and pulled her ever-  
  
faithful Baretta out of her ankle holster. "Who are you?"  
  
she said, holding her son, stepping away from the stranger,  
  
pointing her gun at him.  
  
"Mom," the boy said calmly, taking the gun away from her as  
  
if it was a toy and handing it to the stranger. "His name  
  
is Sam and he said he can bring Dad home....."  
  
*************************  
  
Starkweather woke up with a gasp and found herself in the  
  
little apartment she had shared with Ben...  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
"Ticklish, huh?" Sam said quietly as he turned back to look  
  
at her face, which looked a little more peacefull. "Sorry,"  
  
he whispered as he kissed her cheek.  
  
"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full  
  
of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him  
  
at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman."  
  
Sam sighed forcefully. "I know," he snapped at Al. "But  
  
she's not happy though."  
  
"Well, of course not, you dummy," Al lit up a cigar. "She  
  
thinks Ben's dead."  
  
"Have you guys been able to get a lock on Ben's location?"  
  
Sam got back to business.  
  
Al fussed with his hand held link. "Ziggy's still not  
  
completely up to speed, the virus is out of her, we're  
  
still cleaning up the mess that it left behind. The good  
  
news is that we don't have to worry about her crashing and  
  
burning anymore..."  
  
"'And the villagers rejoiced'" Sam quoted Monty Python.  
  
"'Yay...'"  
  
Al glowered at Sam, "How is it..." Al asked "that you can  
  
forgot almost all of American history but your Swiss  
  
Cheesed memory can remember 'The Holy Grail'?"  
  
"Just lucky, I guess," Sam grinned for a minute before  
  
gettng back to business. "Now, about Ben?"  
  
"Oh yeah..." Al thumped the console. It squealed like a  
  
dying animal. "Well, so far, we've figured out that Ben's  
  
still in DC, which is good, but we can't get a lock on his  
  
exact location. Goush is working on that." Al smacked the  
  
console again. "As for other news... well, we've got four  
  
days left before Mulder gets his internal organs re-  
  
arranged... but I finally have some good news for you  
  
Sam... Sam... Sam, are you listening to me???"  
  
Sam had been staring at Starkweather's sleeping face,  
  
watching her lips moving along with her dreams. "I heard  
  
you... it's about time that we got some good news..."  
  
Al groaned, "Sam... look... I know... she's a great girl...  
  
I understand what you're going through..."  
  
"Do you Al?" Sam snapped. "Do you really? Do you know what  
  
it's been like... these past fifteen years, drifting in and  
  
out of lives... getting so close to so many people... being  
  
treated like a son, a father, a brother, a lover, only to  
  
disappear out of their lives again and I can't even give  
  
them the courtesy of remembering their names. Not to  
  
mention the loved ones I may have back at home that I don't  
  
even remember... I don't even though if I'm married or not,  
  
Al... and don't you DARE tell me if I am or not... well,"  
  
Sam looked at the floor for a minute, "I guess it wouldn't  
  
matter since I was instantly forget the minute I leapt into  
  
a new life, wouldn't I Al... Al... Al...?"  
  
But Al had stopped listening to Sam. He was staring wide-  
  
eyed at Starkweather.  
  
"Doggett?" Sam suddenly heard as he felt her hand,  
  
trembling, on his shoulder. "Please tell me you see a  
  
little man in an electric blue zoot suit and a butt-ugly  
  
tie," Starkweather said in a trembling voice as she locked  
  
eyes on Al.  
  
"Um..." Sam tried to stall.  
  
Al leapt into action, hoping that she would still be in the  
  
greylands between sleep and wakefulness. "He can't see me  
  
honey because you're still dreaming. Just close your eyes  
  
again and go back to sleep. Your nerves are shot from what  
  
happened today, just go back to sleep," he said in a  
  
lulling voice, as if trying to coax a child back to bed.  
  
Sam noticed that Starkweather was not buying it. She leaned  
  
over and pinched Sam on the arm, hard.  
  
Sam leapt up. "Ouch!!!" he cried, "What was that for?"  
  
"You think I'd pinch myself??" Starkweather kicked off  
  
the covers and pulled her gun out of her holster.  
  
Al dropped his arms, sagging in defeat. "Honey, that's not  
  
going to do any good."  
  
Whispering to Sam, she said "Doggett, am I losing my mind  
  
or is there really a little dude smoking a cigar over  
  
there?"  
  
Al burst out, "He can't me, only you can."  
  
Sam mumbled lamely, "I don't see anything..." Starkweather  
  
started to shake. Sam, nervously asked, "Starkweather let  
  
me have the gun..."  
  
Starkweather turned it on him. "Who are you?" she demanded  
  
as she took the safety off.  
  
Sam thought very very quickly as he stared down the shaft  
  
of Starkweather's gun. Noting how badly her hands were  
  
trembling, Sam realized that she was one heartbeat away  
  
from becoming totally unhinged. With that realization, he  
  
took a chance, swinging his hands in an inside-out guarding  
  
block, knocking the gun from Starkweather's unsteady hands.  
  
He grabbed her shoulders and yelled at her, "Listen to me,  
  
Jerilyn, okay? It's ME. It's John Doggett," Sam lied,  
  
knowing that the truth would probably send her over the  
  
deep end. "I'm your partner, I'm your friend... Jesus,  
  
Jeri, look at me!!!" he shook her a little bit.  
  
Starkweather twisted her way out of his grip. Sam tried to  
  
grab her again, but she leaped over the coffee table like a  
  
hurtler and snatched up her gun. Hands no longer shaking,  
  
she pointed it at Sam again. "Doggett," she informed him  
  
coolly, "NEVER calls me by my first name."  
  
SHIT!! Sam groaned to himself. "Starkweather-" he  
  
started up lamely, while watching Al who was standing  
  
behind Starkweather now. Al had tucked the console in his  
  
pocket and was trying to use sign language to him while at  
  
the same time mouthing a word, a monosyllabic word... it  
  
looked like...  
  
"Doc..." Sam spluttered out. "You're being ridiculous!" he  
  
snapped, hoping he correctly guessed Al's charades and that  
  
he was nailing the character of John Doggett. "What is with  
  
you? Put that gun down!"  
  
It worked. With a stifled sob, Starkweather safetied the  
  
gun and handed it to Sam. "I don't know..." she whimpered.  
  
"Jesus... I just came back from a month long medical  
  
leave... I haven't even been back two whole days and I'm  
  
being sent right back out again..." she put her hand to her  
  
head. "I just... I don't know... nothing seems real... I  
  
mean... it doesn't even FEEL like Ben's gone and now I'm  
  
SEEING things and I'm HEARING things...." Al decided that  
  
now would be a good time to leave.  
  
When Al had left, Sam said, "There's no one here, honey."  
  
Starkweather, dry-eyed but still over-emotional, started to  
  
shake again. She leaned against the wall, and slid down,  
  
holding herself. "Oh God, oh god, oh god..." she whispered  
  
as she hung her head. Sam went over to her in a shot and  
  
wrapped his big arms around her. She felt cold. She was in  
  
shock. Seeing Al was too much for her. "Come on  
  
Starkweather," he said, rocking her back and forth, wishing  
  
she'd cry or yell or do SOMETHING.  
  
Finally, she came around, "I'm sorry I freaked out on you,"  
  
she mumbled.  
  
Sam laughed "It was the cherry on the Sundae from hell," he  
  
said.  
  
Starkweather scootched closer to him and hugged him  
  
fiercely around the neck. "Is this nightmare going to end?"  
  
she asked.  
  
"God, I hope so," Sam said to her, holding her tight. Then,  
  
to himself he muttered again. "God I hope so."  
  
And so, huddled together like two refugees from a war-torn  
  
land, the agent and the time traveler fell asleep, only  
  
holding it together because they were holding each other. 


	7. The A-Team Made this look a lot easier.....

The next morning...  
  
Ben and Jeri's apartment  
  
June 18, 2002  
  
7:17 AM  
  
Sam awoke, feeling bright sunshine on his face. His neck  
  
was one solid stress knot from sleeping leaning against a  
  
wall. He looked down and saw Starkweather's head resting on  
  
his chest. He craned his neck and noticed that in the crook  
  
of her legs, Caesar the cat was sunning himself, purring  
  
loudly, looking as smug as only a cat could.  
  
Laughing a little, Sam leaned back against the wall. He  
  
rotated his neck in a vain attempt to work out the kinks.  
  
Then, he took Starkweather in his arms and scooped her up.  
  
Slowly, he stood up and staggered over to the sofa and laid  
  
her down. "Let's try this again," he said as he covered her  
  
up with the quilt. Caesar leapt upon the couch and sat on  
  
Starkweather's stomach, hissing and growling at Sam. When  
  
Sam tried to rearrange the blanket, Caesar swiped at him,  
  
claws extended, catching his hand.  
  
"Ow!" Sam exclaimed, putting the scratches to his mouth,  
  
sucking on the wounders. Caesar merely glared and spit at  
  
him.  
  
"He knows you aren't Doggett," Al said casually, suddenly  
  
appearing next to Sam.  
  
"Al!!!" Sam said, "what the hell happened last night?"  
  
Al sighed and started punching on the console, "Well, I  
  
told you that the virus left little surprises in Ziggy....  
  
last night was one of them... fortunately, like I said...  
  
she's stable right now."  
  
"But SHE isn't!" Sam gestured to the sleeping Starkweather.  
  
"Al... when I was looking down the barrel of that gun, I  
  
really thought I was going to bite the big one there for a  
  
second."  
  
"Me too," Al said. "Buddy, I had to check my drawers for  
  
cake when all was said and done." Al cleared his throat.  
  
"And don't think for a moment that telling her the truth is  
  
going to make it okay. That will only send her screaming  
  
for the nearest padded cell... if she believes you."  
  
"Al..." Sam said with a rueful smile. "I think it's time  
  
for you to get on those wings..."  
  
"SaaaaaaaaaaaAM," Al whined. "I really hate doing the whole  
  
guardian angel routine."  
  
"Would you prefer I have you dress in a diaper and boogey  
  
like the dancing baby from Ally McBeal?" Sam fired back.  
  
Al rolled his eyes. "Angels we have heard on high..." he  
  
crooned out of tune.  
  
"That's better," Sam said, scribbling a note to  
  
Starkweather. "Now... I'm going to go to Doggett's to take  
  
a shower and get some clean clothes. Before you don your  
  
halo for Starkweather, I need you to do something for me,  
  
Al."  
  
"Name it buddy."  
  
"Go pay a visit to the Deputy Mayor."  
  
"Anything but that."  
  
"AL," Sam hissed as he walked to the front door. "Mulder  
  
WILL figure out that I'm not Doggett. Just two days ago, I  
  
overheard him make the comment on why I didn't have a  
  
Southern accent anymore. I didn't know Doggett HAD a  
  
Southern accent."  
  
"Oh," Al said, guiltily. "Hey, Sam? Doggett has a Southern  
  
accent."  
  
"Gee thanks." Sam retorted. "Al... I need you to clue  
  
Mulder in on what's going on. He may be able to help us.  
  
Starkweather was in the process of finding a connection  
  
between the oil rig case and the case they had just worked  
  
on concerned a crashed F-15 in Scotland. But her  
  
concentration is shot to hell right now. Maybe Mulder can  
  
finish what she started. If we can make the connection,  
  
maybe we can stop this nightmare."  
  
"Fine, fine... I'll go say hi to Spooky in Sing-Sing..." Al  
  
punched out...  
  
Sam left the apartment.  
  
The County Jailhouse  
  
Washington DC  
  
7:45 AM  
  
Mulder, after returning to his cell after the insanely  
  
early breakfast, laid down on the bottom bunk. Manny had  
  
not returned to his cell, as his court appointed lawyer  
  
wanted to meet with him. So Mulder planned on enjoying a  
  
little bit of solitude.  
  
It didn't last long.  
  
"Hiya, Spooky," Al said, gnawing on his ever present cigar.  
  
Mulder jumped and banged his head on the top bunk.  
  
"YEOWWW!!!"  
  
The bored voice of the guard called out from the end of the  
  
hall. "Keep down, down there."  
  
Mulder, rubbing his head, looked up. "AL???" he whispered  
  
incredulously. "You're back..."  
  
"What can I say?" Al said drily. "I can't get enough of ya,  
  
baby."  
  
Mulder reached out and watched his hand pass through Al's  
  
body. "This means Sam's back too..." Mulder remembered from  
  
last year, when Sam had leapt into Scully. A queasy feeling  
  
settled in his soul. "Um... how long have you guys been  
  
here..." assuming Sam was back in Scully.  
  
"This is the third day." Al said, wondering why Mulder was  
  
turning very very green.  
  
"And you waited until NOW to tell me?" Mulder said,  
  
clutching his stomach. "You mean to tell me that was  
  
**Sam** just walked out of here last night!" He went from  
  
green to grey. "Oh my God... the remarks I made last night  
  
about handcuffs and bars and being a sex-kitten... and  
  
yesterday, I made love to her... him... oh God..."  
  
Al couldn't help but let Mulder torture himself for  
  
just a bit longer.  
  
"In fact... we had sex not just yesterday morning, but the  
  
night before... and the night before..." Al arched an  
  
eyebrow at him. Mulder bridled at him. "Hey, we have eight  
  
years of stupidity to make up for..." now he went from grey  
  
to white. "... but the past three days... it wasn't  
  
Scully... I feel so dirty..."  
  
Al let Mulder off the hook. "Mulder, you moron, Sam's not  
  
in Scully!"  
  
"Oh." Feeling like a complete nitwit, Mulder tried to save  
  
face. "If Sam's not in Scully... who's he in?" A thought  
  
crossed his mind. "Starkweather?"  
  
"No no, that would be too easy," Al sighed. "He's in  
  
Doggett."  
  
Mulder's face color returned to normal as a evil grin  
  
crossed his face. "Sam's in the Puppy-Man?"  
  
After all the grief Doggett-in-Sam had given him, Al  
  
couldn't help but grin nastily. "Puppy-Man, huh?" Al took  
  
out his Palm-Pilot "Memo to me...."  
  
Georgetown  
  
Scully's Residence  
  
7:46 AM  
  
*********************  
  
"What the hell do you mean I can't go to Martha's Vineyard  
  
today?" Scully snapped into her phone.  
  
"Scully, I hate to tell you this, but we have a review up  
  
before Kersh this morning at ten. Apparently, he's calling  
  
you, Doggett, Starkweahter and me on Mulder's arrest and  
  
Ben Starkweather's murder."  
  
"Sir, he can't do that! We have absolutely nothing that can  
  
implicate anybody on this case!"  
  
"The fact is, Scully, that you have a history for covering  
  
for Mulder." Skinner said before he realized it.  
  
"Sir, so do you." Scully replied frankly.  
  
"You and I both know that, Scully, but at least Doggett and  
  
Starkweather will be there to back us up on this. Look, if  
  
there was anything I could do to stop this meeting, believe  
  
me, I would do it. But Martha's Vineyard will just have to  
  
be delayed a little bit."  
  
"Delayed!" Scully erupted, "Sir! I was heading on my way  
  
out! If it is true that whoever is behind this is inside  
  
the FBI, then it is very possible that the evidence we need  
  
will be removed from the premises! I think it is very  
  
possible that this whole meeting is nothing more than a  
  
front to keep me from finding out what they don't want us  
  
to know."  
  
"Scully, I just can't grant you a reprieve on this as much  
  
as I'd like to. The future of the x-files division may very  
  
well hinge on this meeting. We need your input on this  
  
matter. Besides," Skinner sighed grudgingly, "if you don't  
  
show up, that's just going to make it easier for them to  
  
hang you later."  
  
"Is there something your not telling me, sir?" Scully  
  
demanded.  
  
"Billy Miles came into this building last night." Skinner  
  
confessed. "He murdered the security guard and the only  
  
reason you, me, Starkweather, and Doggett aren't split in  
  
half at this very moment is because we weren't in the  
  
building."  
  
"Fine. I'll uh, change my plane reservations and see you in  
  
a couple of hours." Scully consented, hung up, and hopped  
  
on her computer to print out her findings on the current  
  
case.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Mulder laid back down on the bunk, idly kicking the bottom  
  
of the top bunk's mattress. "If I remember correctly,"  
  
Mulder droned, "Dr. Samuel Beckett theorized that one could  
  
time travel in one's own lifetime. He started up a massive  
  
project back in 1999, calling it Quantum Leap. For some  
  
reason or other, he decided to test Quantum Leap before it  
  
was 100% ready. He stepped into the chamber and vanished.  
  
Lost in time, Sam leaps from life to life, putting right  
  
what once went wrong, hoping that each time, the next leap,  
  
will be the leap home."  
  
"Well... yeah that's pretty much it... in a nutshell."  
  
"And it is safe to assume that me being arrested for Ben's  
  
murder is what went wrong."  
  
"You could say that..." Al said. "Except that somehow,  
  
history changed. He's not dead."  
  
Mulder sat up, hitting his head again. "OW! Damn it."  
  
"Stop doing that, it hurts," Al warned him helpfully.  
  
Mulder glared at Al. "Ben's not dead?" he croaked out,  
  
rubbing his noggin. "Well, zippa-dee-do-da, that's great, so  
  
why the hell am I still here?"  
  
Al groaned and rolled his eyes. "I forgot what a joy and  
  
pleasure it is to be around you." Al lit up another cigar.  
  
"Ben's not dead, but he's being held prisoner somewhere. We  
  
believe that Ben's disappearance is directly connected with  
  
the oil rig case that you and Doggett worked on."  
  
"Galpex Petroleum Orpheus," Mulder said, laying back down,  
  
head throbbing. "Yeah... and Mr. Mini-Johnny Cochran  
  
thought he was going to take that case to trial and be a  
  
big legal star."  
  
"Starkweather was working on a connection between the oil  
  
rig and the downed plane in Scotland-"  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Which what?"  
  
"Which Starkweather?"  
  
"Oh, sorry. Jerilyn." Al had forgotten that the Mrs.  
  
Starkweather did have a first name. "Anyways, she was  
  
working on a connection and we think if we could just  
  
figure out what the big hairy deal is between Scotland and  
  
the oil rig, we might be able to figure out exactly WHY Ben  
  
was snatched and maybe even find him."  
  
"So," Mulder huffed. "Go ask Starkweather."  
  
"Um... she's a little... testy right now."  
  
"A LITTLE testy?" Mulder turned his head. "If this," he  
  
pointed to his face, "is what you classify as 'a little', I  
  
would hate to see what you call 'a lot testy.' Personally,  
  
I would file this under 'Hormonal B*tch' but that's just  
  
me."  
  
Al took a closer look at Mulder. "Oooh... Geez... she did  
  
THAT?!?!?"  
  
LGM lair  
  
a few hours earlier  
  
*********************  
  
"You think we're looking at this wrong, Byers? I mean, we  
  
could just be seeing the results funky because we're sleep-  
  
deprived." Frohike grumbled, staring open-jawed at the DNA  
  
samples.  
  
"Who knows, maybe we're still in the middle of a  
  
nightmare."  
  
"Hold out your arm." Frohike demanded to Langly.  
  
"What for?" Langly wanted to know.  
  
"Just hold out your arm." Frohike said, and then  
  
immediately pinched what little was showing underneath his  
  
long-sleeved shirt.  
  
"Ow!" Langly shouted, and threw up his arm, unintentionally  
  
b*tch-slapping Byers.  
  
"This is reality." Byers said, heaving a disappointed sigh.  
  
"Whatever the hell this is, I sure as sh*t ain't gonna be  
  
the one to spill it to Scully."  
  
"Do it again, maybe we did the tests wrong." Frohike  
  
suggested hopefully.  
  
"Maybe the two-month-old vomit sample isn't  
  
reliable...maybe the aliens changed the DNA make-up when he  
  
was abducted..." Langly frantically reasoned.  
  
"Didn't Mulder say she was possibly abducted, too?" Frohike  
  
interjected.  
  
"There's only one way to find out." Byers answered.  
  
Again, Byers took another of Mulder's two-month-old vomit  
  
sample.  
  
"Got another peice of her hair, Frohickey?"  
  
"Double double, toil and trouble." Frohike mumbled,  
  
plucking a blond strand from his jacket.  
  
"We've got the horney toad," Langly said, nodding in  
  
Frohike's general direction, "All we need for a complete  
  
spell now is an eye of newt."  
  
That hair strand and the vommit were put on slides and the  
  
levels were compared.  
  
"It's a match..." Byers croaked unbelievingly, "98.5%."  
  
"You don't think they can kill us for telling them, do  
  
you?" Langly nasalled.  
  
"We better change our locks." Frohike suggested.  
  
"We better change our identities." Langly offered.  
  
"It's a match...that changes everything..." Byers  
  
concluded.  
  
back at Mulder's Cell  
  
***  
  
Mulder had small purple bruises around his neck, where  
  
Starkweather had tried to choke him. His nose, broken  
  
before and broken again, had puffed up. As she had punched  
  
his nose, she also had split upper lip which the prison  
  
doctor had to stitch shut. "I spent three hours in the  
  
infirmary being stitched up by Dr. Frankenstein before they  
  
took me off to be strip-searched." Mulder said, rolling  
  
back over. "Yesterday wasn't exactly a banner day for me."  
  
Al, was still in total shock. "SHE did that?"  
  
"No, the other little b*tch who thinks I killed her  
  
husband."  
  
"But if we find the little b- um..." Al tried again. "If we  
  
can find Ben, they all will be well and we can get you out  
  
of here, so dammit I need to know what is so crucial about  
  
that case staying in the dark, other than the fact that you  
  
and Doggett's careers get shot to kingdom come!!" Al was  
  
getting REALLY tired of the G-men from the X-Files.  
  
Mulder turned his head again. "There's something you're not  
  
telling me." Al opened his mouth, then shut it again.  
  
Mulder rubbed his eyes. "Come on Al, I've been in worse  
  
positions that this."  
  
"Um... if we don't find Ben and prove that you didn't kill  
  
him... thenbillihkljhfdsfr," Al mumbled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"If we don't find Ben and prove that you didn't kill him...  
  
then someone... or something named Billy Miles is gonna  
  
come and rearrange your face worse than that Hurricane  
  
did."  
  
Mulder was quiet for a moment. "Okay... that's a new one."  
  
Mulder said. "So, because Starkweather married an idiot who  
  
got himself involved in an X-File when he had absolutely no  
  
right to, I'm going to be bent, stapled and mulitated  
  
unless I pick up where Starkweather, and that's the Mrs.  
  
Starkweather I'm referring to, left off, find out, from my  
  
locked jailcell, if you will, on what secret that oil rig  
  
contained and how it's connected to the case Starkweather,  
  
again, Mrs. Starkweather, Scully and Doggett worked on.  
  
Once I figure out this secret, this secret by the way I  
  
have been pursuing for about ten years, we can also figure  
  
out where the idiot, and I'm referring to MR. Starkweather  
  
now, where the idiot is being held, reunited the  
  
Starkweathers, Mr. and Mrs. and I can skip out of here a  
  
free man... but there's a catch, isn't there Al? I'm  
  
working under deadline, aren't I?"  
  
"According to Ziggy, we've got four days left."  
  
"Of course we do," Mulder grumbled, starting to massage his  
  
temples. "Almost a decade of chasing after the truth and  
  
I've got to catch it, from a prison cell, in less than  
  
ninety-six hours," Mulder groaned. "That women," he said,  
  
referring to the Mrs. Starkweather, "has been a pain in the  
  
ass since I've met her."  
  
Al, overtired, overwrought, scared for Sam and in dire need  
  
of a stiff drink, retorted "Must run your the family,  
  
bucko."  
  
"What do you mean?" Mulder said caustically. "I have no  
  
family except Scully and Wil-." Just then the clue bus  
  
made a stop and Mulder climbed aboard. "Oh my God-" he sat  
  
up again and again banged his head. "OW!!! GOD DAMN IT!!"  
  
"You took that a helluva lot better than Ziggy predicted  
  
you would."  
  
He swung his long legs out and sat on his bunk, glaring at  
  
Al. "Are you saying that... Starkweather and I... are  
  
related...how? My parents were both only children, so I  
  
have no cousins. It was confirmed that Samantha was killed,  
  
so I have no nieces or nephews." But Mulder's mind began to  
  
race, thinking about all the times he and Starkweather had  
  
met and talked, how there was a spark, a surge, a  
  
preternatural sensation of Family??  
  
That would sear his soul even when he was the most inflamed  
  
at her cutting tongue.  
  
Al finally said what had never been spoken aloud for  
  
twenty-eight years. "She's your sister."  
  
Mulder's fists were clenched in rage. "Samantha's dead."  
  
"I didn't say she was Samantha, I said she was your sister.  
  
Half-sister anyway." Al got out his handy-dandy console.  
  
"Ziggy said that it's 65 perce- holy Moses roses!" Al said,  
  
looking at the new figures. "History changed again Mulder,  
  
I dunno how, but now Ziggy's saying that there is a ninety  
  
eight point five percent change that you and Starkweather  
  
share the same biological..." he looked down at Mulder. He  
  
was not taking this well. He was not going to take the next  
  
word well either. "Father."  
  
Mulder closed his eyes. "My father had an affair?"  
  
Al said sadly, "I can't get you answers until you get me  
  
answers."  
  
Mulder opened his eyes. "Alright, I'll do what I can."  
  
"THANK YOU," Al said opening the chamber door. "I'll be in  
  
touch... no pun intended."  
  
"Ha." Mulder deadpanned.  
  
"Goushie," Al said, "center me on Starkweather."  
  
As Al disappeared, Mulder couldn't help but allow himself a  
  
mean little smile. We're brother and sister?? he  
  
thought in glee. He couldn't wait for Starkweather to find  
  
out. That is going to ruin her entire day.  
  
Just then the guard came to let Manny back in and Mulder  
  
out. "Come on, Mulder," the guard said, none too friendly.  
  
"Your lawyer's here."  
  
Mulder wondered if he should tell Justin Leo that Ben might  
  
be alive.  
  
As he was escorted to a private interview room, Mulder  
  
tried to hurry and organize his scattered thoughts and  
  
emotions into one nice neat line. Of course, it was hard  
  
being cool, calm and collected while wearing a bright  
  
orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, but Mulder did the best he  
  
could. It was, after all, not the first time he did jail  
  
time.  
  
The unsmiling guard let him into the interview room where  
  
Justin Leo awaited his arrival. Uncuffing him, he told  
  
Mulder. "Behave yourself."  
  
Mulder resisted the impulse to salute him but he did say  
  
casually, "Yes, mein Fuhrer."  
  
The guard snorted. "Pain in the ass," he muttered as he  
  
swung the heavy steel door shut behind him.  
  
Leo looked up from his legal pen. "Mr. Mulder," he said  
  
warmly as he stood up to shake his hand. "How are they  
  
treating you?"  
  
"The service here is awful," Mulder said, absolutely  
  
straight-face. "I plan on writing a letter of complaint to  
  
the management."  
  
Leo laughed. "They told me you had a quick wit."  
  
"I was hoping your legal manuveuring would be quicker than  
  
my wit."  
  
"Well, we'll have you out in no time," Leo said sincerely.  
  
"Funny, I thought I'd be out now on bail since all the  
  
evidence is purely circumstantial," Mulder found himself  
  
becoming resentful towards the neatly dressed lawyer  
  
sitting across from him. He couldn't quite place his finger  
  
on it. Maybe I'm just jealous that he's on the outside  
  
and I'm stuck in here he reasoned.  
  
"I understand you're frustrated," Leo said, "believe me, I  
  
can't tell you how disappointed I am at the judge's ruling.  
  
Between you, me and the fencepost, I think he's on the  
  
take, and let's face it Mr. Mulder,you've gotten on the bad  
  
side of a lot of powerful people. I wouldn't be surprised  
  
if the judge is being paid by someone to make your life a  
  
living hell."  
  
"But who could that be?" Mulder said. "Everyone I pissed  
  
off is dead."  
  
"I beg to differ." Leo argued gently. "Deputy Director  
  
Kersh is alive... Jerilyn Starkweather is alive."  
  
"Kersh works for the FBI... he doesn't have the money to  
  
bribe anyone," Mulder said while thinking But if he's  
  
getting regular dividends from the oil company... "and  
  
Starkweather... bribery is not her style. She'd rather just  
  
beat the shit out of me rather than waste money bribing a  
  
judge."  
  
"Do you want to press charges against her for... um..." Leo  
  
pointed at his face. "That?"  
  
Mulder shook his head. "She's suffering enough right now."  
  
Just having her find out that we're family is going to be  
  
punishment enough.  
  
"Are you sure?" Leo argued, a little more heat now, but not  
  
much. "I've been doing some research into Agent  
  
Starkweather and she's a huge liability to our case."  
  
"I'll say," Mulder said dryly. "She thinks I killed her  
  
husband."  
  
"Sir, with all due respect," Leo said. "I think we should  
  
go after her for her attack on you. Not only will you get  
  
monitary recouperation for your injuries, but since she's  
  
one of the main witnesses for the prosecution, a law suit  
  
against her might help us discredit her, if the judge will  
  
allow it, of course."  
  
Mulder, in light of the information he had just received  
  
this morning, shook his head. "I'm not comfortable with  
  
that line of defense, Mr. Leo."  
  
"Why not?" Leo persisted. "She's in the way. I am not  
  
comfortable with her out there as their star character  
  
witness. She'll be on that stand, telling them about the  
  
arguement you two had at J. Edgar and weeping crocidile  
  
tears for her poor dead husband...  
  
"Is there a chance that the dead husband isn't dead?"  
  
Leo sighed, exasperated. "Mr. Mulder... I understand that  
  
you recently underwent an experience which makes you  
  
question the permenance of death but I can assure you. Mr.  
  
Starkweather is NOT partially dead or even mostly dead. He  
  
is completely dead. And the prosecution is going to use the  
  
grieving widow to gain sympathy for their case. Face it Mr.  
  
Mulder, I know your scruples are up in arms about attacking  
  
Agent Starkweather's creditbility, but her testimony  
  
completely interfers with our defense strategy.  
  
Discrediting Starkweather is an issue of priorities and  
  
securities, Mr. Mulder. Not whether or not we're  
  
comfortable."  
  
Mulder merely murmurred thoughtfully, "I see..." he closed  
  
his eyes. "Say that last part again?"  
  
"Whether or not we're comf-"  
  
"Before that."  
  
"Priorities and securities?"  
  
"Mayor," a man was protesting, "he is in our way. He  
  
can't continue to hold this position without interfering  
  
with our agenda. He says it's an issue of priorities and  
  
securities."  
  
Mulder, like a lazy tiger, opened his eyes and stared at  
  
him as if the lawyer was a sleeping gazelle. "I think, Mr.  
  
Leo," Mulder said calmly. "I need another attorney."  
  
Leo also eyed Mulder as if he was the predator and Mulder  
  
the prey. "I understand," he said evenly. "Good day, Mr.  
  
Mulder." They shook hands and Leo took his leave.  
  
The minute Leo was out the door, Mulder yelled,  
  
"GUARD?!?!?! I NEED TO USE THE PHONE PLEASE?"  
  
The minute Leo was out of the jailhouse, he pulled his  
  
sleek little Nokia phone out of his pants pocket and hit  
  
speed-dial. "It's Justin Leo. We have a situation.... he  
  
figured it out."  
  
  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
9:04 am  
  
****************************  
  
"Sir," Skinner was saying. "I think pending the  
  
investigation Doggett will raise in the coming weeks once  
  
this oil-rig matter blows over, the findings will give you  
  
no room to squirm. It will not be in your best interest to  
  
put anyone involved in the x-files division underfire." He  
  
decided the best tactic to employ in this situation would  
  
be to try and persuade his superior the good reasons for  
  
alleviating blame from the x-files division.  
  
"Walter," Kersh refuted, "I have good reason to believe  
  
that justice has been obstructed here, and I will do my  
  
damnedest to make sure that the proper measures are taken  
  
against that. You've had a distinguished career, A.D., I'd  
  
hate to see it all end up in smoke."  
  
"Or in oil." Skinner mumbled.  
  
"I am allowing Doggett's investigation of my office to  
  
continue" Kersh went on, disregarding Skinner's remark,  
  
"because I am positive that he will find nothing wrong  
  
while in this position. I am bringing the members of the x-  
  
files division here today because I believe that some  
  
aspects of their current situation needs to be brought to  
  
light."  
  
"Interrogating them in this manner is not going to bring  
  
any answers to light, Sir." Skinner rebuttled, "All  
  
questionning will do is arouse Doggett's suspicions of your  
  
own behavior, further giving him cause to probe into your  
  
term as Deputy Director.  
  
"Nothing is going to interfere with this investigation. I  
  
am not--"  
  
Kersh stopped in mid-sentence because just then there was a  
  
resounding BOOM! Followed by an obvious voiceless scuffle,  
  
then a silence.  
  
Skinner spat up and spun around, not loosing any time  
  
getting his gun out of his ankle holster.  
  
"I think nothing's at the door, Kersh." Skinner said,  
  
poising his gun.  
  
The door flung open, and a tall man with dark hair, eyes  
  
searching but not 'seeing' lumbered past Skinner and went  
  
directly for Kersh.  
  
Billy Miles, moved arms zombily outstretched, directed at  
  
Kersh's necks. Kersh, wide-eyed, stood paralyzed, unable to  
  
do anything defense-wise except cower under his desk  
  
Skinner, not blinking once, shot at the tall form, but  
  
missed the crucial spot due to Billy Miles' own swift  
  
movements. Green ooze protruded from his shoulder-blade. In  
  
one fell swoop, Billy Miles picked up the desk, threw it at  
  
Skinner, who barely managed to side-step it.  
  
Trying to keep himself from being flung like  
  
that desk and his superior alive was Skinner's immediate  
  
priority.  
  
Kersh, in reflex, grabbed the flagpole that stood in his  
  
office for defense. He idley swung to the left, and then  
  
swiftly again to the right, looking a little to Skinner at  
  
the moment like a majorette, and would've laughed at that  
  
thought had the situation not been so dire.  
  
Billy Miles' form snatched the flagpole from Kersh, who  
  
shot a desperate glance at Skinner. Billy Miles first swung  
  
the pole in the direction of Skinner, barely missing and  
  
swinging the pole into the wall in the process, also  
  
knocking his pistol out of his hand. He then swung at  
  
Kersh.  
  
"The oil...the oil stocks..." Kersh's voice shook in  
  
cowardice. He began confessing to the monster formerly  
  
known as Billy Miles, hoping to gain a reprieve. "The oil  
  
company involved in the case that got Agent Mulder fired is  
  
currently earning me hefty dividends. Investigation...would  
  
have gotten me reprimanded or in legal trouble."  
  
"Is that true?" Skinner questioned as he ducked another  
  
swing.  
  
Kersh nodded as he backed up against the window. Skinner  
  
watched in horror as Billy Miles throttled his neck through  
  
the blinds, and shattering the glass.  
  
Skinner plunged for his gun, which laid somewhere under the  
  
rubble that was formerly his superior's desk. He grabbed  
  
the gun.  
  
With the abruptness of a summer storm, Billy Miles released  
  
his grip. Kersh clutched the ledge of the window, and  
  
Skinner helped him up as Billy Miles robotically left the  
  
room.  
  
Scully stood jaw gaping as she surveyed the disaster that  
  
was formerly an impeccably organized Deputy Director's  
  
office. Kersh was still doubled over, just holding the two  
  
ends of the flag-poles.  
  
"Sir? What--" Scully said, looking puzzled at the mess.  
  
Being ever the medical doctor, she went to Kersh, doing a  
  
topical examination of his injuries.  
  
"Billy Miles was here." Skinner began.  
  
"He did this--but I thought--" Scully stammered in  
  
disbelief  
  
"Whatever that virus was that he and Mulder were infected  
  
with last winter made Billy Miles indestructable.  
  
"What is going on here?" Sam demanded, surveying the  
  
damage. "I saw the paramedics outside and--"  
  
"Holy smoke, Sam," Al blurted out when he appeared, letting  
  
out a low whistle "looks like my place after ex-wife number  
  
3 found out about ex-wife number 4"  
  
"I think these agents deserve an explanation." Skinner cued  
  
to Kersh, who admonishingly sighed, closing his eyes.  
  
"Billy Miles came after me." Kersh began softly.  
  
"Why? Why does Billy Miles want you harmed?" Sam-in-Doggett  
  
demanded, and flashed a quizzical look at Al, who quickly  
  
jumped in with the answer.  
  
"Billy Miles is the main suspect charged with Mulder's  
  
murder, T-1000 style." Al finished.  
  
"For a sizable sum of money in oil stocks, I was paid to  
  
let certain things within the Bureau slide." Kersh  
  
admitted.  
  
"You are aware that a man is rotting in jail right now for  
  
a crime he didn't commit." Scully pointed out.  
  
"All the evidence against him suggests otherwise, agent  
  
Scully." Kersh argued.  
  
"All the evidence against him is circumstantial, Kersh."  
  
Sam fired back. "The defense attorney working his case has  
  
a questionable background."  
  
"Not questionable, Sam...Leo's as crooked as Quasimodo's  
  
back." Al butted in.  
  
"Agent Doggett, don't think I'm in anyway connected with  
  
that attorney assigned to him."  
  
"The wicked flee-eth when he's been caught holding the  
  
bag." Al grumbled.  
  
"I think you're hiding something." Sam-in-Doggett glared.  
  
"I think you know exactly who's behind all this and I think  
  
that unless you come forth with that information, a lot of  
  
people are going to be killed." He said, storming out.  
  
"Sir, I think Doggett's right." Scully seethed. "You are  
  
letting an innocent man rot in jail and you are putting  
  
everyone here at risk. If our investigation of your office  
  
finds anything--even a pack of cigarettes on the FBI's  
  
dime--you are going to wish Billy Miles split you instead  
  
of that pole. If you'll excuse me, I have an investigation  
  
to persue." She finished, and stormed out.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
At an horse farm in rural Maryland...  
  
Marita Covarubias was out in the barn saddling up her  
  
favorite mare, Arwin, a placid palamino, when her cell  
  
phone rang. Arwin twitched an ear in interest but made no  
  
other movement, as well-trained as she was. Marita looped  
  
the reins around the fences, stepped away from the animal  
  
and answered. "Hello?"  
  
"It's Justin Leo. We have a situation.... he figured it  
  
out."  
  
Marita bit back a howl of frustration. It was all going to  
  
hell. First, that smokey son-of-a-b*tch's coup de tat, re-  
  
seizing control of the New Syndicate. And now this. She had  
  
gone against her better judgement about allowing Leo to be  
  
a part of this project. He was too personally involved. Now  
  
she was going to pay for it.  
  
Calmly, as if talking to an idiot child, she said, "Go to  
  
the safe house and don't move until I say so. We'll have to  
  
arrange a flight and money and lodging for you."  
  
"You talk as if I'm in danger," Leo said as he hailed on of  
  
DC's colorful cabs.  
  
Marita, losing her calm just a hair, informed him, "You  
  
don't think Mulder is on the phone to Agent Scully right  
  
now, telling him what's going on? The man still has  
  
connections. Plus we have the very unfortunate situation  
  
where most people don't believe he's guilty."  
  
"The judge is fixed."  
  
"The judge is dead," Marita took great pleasure in telling  
  
him while she thought Or at least, he will be after I get  
  
off the phone with you, you waster of oxygen I could be  
  
breathing.  
  
"WHAT?" Leo was in the cab now, clutching his briefcase.  
  
"Capitol Hill," he told the cabbie before resuming his  
  
conversation. "Why the f*ck did you do that?" he snapped.  
  
"He was an valuable asset."  
  
"This entire mission is getting too messy," Marita spelled  
  
it out for him. "The goal was to get rid of Mulder and Mr.  
  
and Mrs. Starkweather. The more people who get involved  
  
with this, the more potential we have for information  
  
slipping out."  
  
"While you're at it," Leo seethed, "why don't you just take  
  
out the entire X-File Division? Skinner, Scully, Doggett,  
  
Reyes?"  
  
"I just might," she told him coldly before she hung up on  
  
him.  
  
After calling her favorite hitmen to take out the judge,  
  
Marita walked back to Arwen, patiently waiting for her. She  
  
scratched the horse's ears while she debated with herself  
  
on what to do next. Finally, she did what she knew she was  
  
going to do all along.  
  
Damn the old man and his obsolete ways. His ways didn't  
  
work anymore. She finished saddling up Arwin and swung  
  
herself up on her back before she dialed again.  
  
"Things have changed. Send the replicant to Mulder's cell  
  
tomorrow night." She said crisply. "And then, afterwards,  
  
get rid of Benjamin Starkweather permanently. I'm calling  
  
for a full abort of the mission. In forty-eight hours, all  
  
evidence must be destroyed."  
  
She knew she was taking a risk in waiting so long in  
  
eliminating Mulder and Mr. Starkweather, but she needed  
  
some time to pull the wool over the Cancer Man's eyes, to  
  
let him think HE was in charge.  
  
Gently, she nudged Arwin in the ribs and took off at a  
  
gallop.  
  
Scully, having an overnight bag to pack, Will to check on,  
  
and plane reservations to change--again--practically flew  
  
to the FBI employee parking garage after the encounter with  
  
her superiors.  
  
Mick Jagger whined over the stereo  
  
Tiiiiiyiyiyime is on my side  
  
Yes it eeeehhhhhhis  
  
Tiiiiiyiyiyime is on my side  
  
Yes it eeeeeeehis  
  
Scully hoped so.  
  
The trance-like state she was in from the music and her  
  
fatigue was interrupted by the shrill ring of her cell  
  
phone.  
  
"Scully, it's Byers. We found something you might wanna  
  
know."  
  
"What did you get, Byers?" Scully asked, turning the car  
  
radio on mute.  
  
"Are you sitting down?"  
  
"I'm driving." Scully said flatly.  
  
"Oh well...I hope your at a stoplight or at a stop sign or  
  
a traffic jam..." Langley nasalled in the background.  
  
"Sorry Scully, we hadda put you on speakerphone." Byers  
  
apologized meekly.  
  
"That's ok, Byers...what did you guys find out?"  
  
"Um...we got this package." Byers hesitated. "It had Mulder  
  
and Jerilyn's blood in it. We ran tests, and the chances  
  
are less than slim that they are blood related."  
  
Scully's car screeched to a stop at the result.  
  
"How?!"  
  
"We don't know." Frohike butted in. "Scully, we heard tires  
  
screaching. Everything alright?"  
  
"Yeah...everything's fine." Scully said queitly.  
  
"I don't think Luke and Princess Liea will be happy when  
  
they find out about this." Langly said.  
  
"I think we're lucky Starkweather doesn't have her own  
  
personal Chewbacca." Byers commented.  
  
"She's got Doggett." Frohike grumbled. "He's close enough."  
  
"Guys...how did you get this information?" Scully demanded  
  
after her nerves were calmed down enough to concentrate on  
  
driving.  
  
"We got these test tubes from some guy in a trench coat."  
  
"Some guy in a trench coat...you guys sound like something  
  
out of a really bad old detective movie."  
  
"Scully, dollars for doughnuts, this is real..." Byers  
  
assured quietly.  
  
"Hang on, Byers, I have a call." Scully thankfully took the  
  
incoming call.  
  
"Little Dana Scully!" a male's voice boomed on the other  
  
end. "How's that little boy of yours? I can't call you  
  
Little Dana anymore with a child of your own, can I?"  
  
"Sir, Williams fine. How are you?"  
  
"Well, I'm upset about this whole mess with my son-in-law  
  
and the Deputy Mayor, Dana. I was hoping you'd set me  
  
straight with the details."  
  
"Sir, I'm right in the middle of an investigation right  
  
now." Scully said ...of you...she silently added.  
  
"I realize your busy, Dana...but I really would like to see  
  
what you have so far on the case. For my little Jeri's  
  
sake. Is there anyway you can make it to Martha's Vineyard  
  
this weekend?"  
  
"I think that can be arranged sir. I'll be there late  
  
Friday."  
  
"Wonderful." The Admiral replied, "You know, Dana, I don't  
  
want to believe he's guilty..."  
  
"I think the evidence against him is circumstantial, and  
  
hopefully my investigations will prove that."  
  
"I hope so, Dana. Take care of that little boy, and feel  
  
free to bring him along. I'll see you this weekend."  
  
"Thank you admiral. See you then. Bye."  
  
Maybe she'd take this visit to get some sun and do a little  
  
interrogation.  
  
With a push of a few buttons, she was back in touch with  
  
Byers.  
  
"I'll pass the word along guys. Thanks for letting me  
  
know."  
  
"May the schwartz be with you." Langly cautioned, and with  
  
that, Scully hung up.  
  
5:37 pm  
  
Martha's Vineyard  
  
******************  
  
Scully wound down the endless sea of vacation houses on  
  
Martha's Vineyard. It certianly hadn't changed much since  
  
she had been here as a child. Being the middle of summer,  
  
the tourist-season was just hitting it's stride, and the  
  
streets were dotted with bicyclists and children bouncing  
  
balls across the streets.  
  
She caught sight of the beach and memories of her brothers  
  
dunking her in the water and chasing after her and Missy  
  
when she was in the middle of itemizing sea shells and  
  
poking at gellatinous jellyfish corpses dotted along the  
  
shoreline. To her, they weren't gross, but beautiful and  
  
fascinating.  
  
She made her way to the Bailey summer home and found the  
  
front door surprisingly unlocked. She opened the door to  
  
find the furniture redecorated and covered in plastic, most  
  
likely by Mrs. Bailey.  
  
"Did the pottery barn throw up in here?" She mumbled.  
  
She walked over to an unfinished chimoise and lifted the  
  
plastic. From behind the plastic, a yellowed and doily-thin  
  
letter feathered down at her feet.  
  
She picked up and her jaw dropped like nighttime  
  
temperature in the desert as she continued to read the  
  
letter's contents.  
  
Dear Jeremy  
  
I know you and your wife will raise this baby girl as your  
  
own daughter, and I am sure she will make a fulfilling  
  
addition to her family. She will be happy with you, I am  
  
sure, unless she finds out her true origins.  
  
At all costs, you must keep this secret from her. She will  
  
be a part of your family until our cause has use for her.  
  
Her father has recently lost his only daughter and youngest  
  
child, Samantha to the cause, and his wife Teena--for the  
  
sake of their 12-year-old boy does not wish for her  
  
father's part in this to be revealed. Your new baby girl's  
  
mother remains a mystery to me, but I believe she is  
  
special...the only one of her kind, moreso than most  
  
parents wish their children to be.  
  
Enclosed you will find forged adoption papers with people  
  
who are not living. In this way, if your new baby daughter  
  
chooses to search out her origins, she will arrive at a  
  
dead end.  
  
I wish all the happiness and promise a young girl can bring  
  
to a father. Keep her part in our cause a secret, and she  
  
will be a happy, well-adjusted, child. Best of luck to you  
  
and your new family.  
  
Sincerely  
  
CBG Spender  
  
Oh my God...the tests...they were accurate...he's in with  
  
Spender...he's part of all of it...it's all coming together  
  
now.  
  
Why is it, Scully wondered, that whenever an x-files case  
  
started to come together, did that usually mean her world  
  
was about to fall apart?  
  
Now, this letter was proof that he was connected to the  
  
syndicate. Now, he just had to find a connection with the  
  
syndicate to Ben's murder. She was wasting rummaging  
  
through the cubbies in the desk and was so intensely  
  
determined to find evidence that she barely heard the  
  
doorknob turning.  
  
Scully ignored her first instinct to dive in a good hiding  
  
place when she heard the click of the doorknob. Instead she  
  
pulled her gun out of her shoulder-holster. She had every  
  
right to be here, and the warrant to proove it. Problem was,  
  
she felt like a kid being caught redhanded.  
  
Admiral Bailey stood at the thresh hold, wide-eyed and  
  
opened-mouthed.  
  
"Dana?" he finally croaked.  
  
"Admiral, can you please explain the meaning of this,"  
  
she said weapon still trained on the old man, she brandished  
  
the old letter with her free hand.  
  
"The meaning of what?!" Admiral Bailey  
  
She read the letter verbatim.  
  
"Are you involved with a syndicate of conspirators involved with  
  
alien/human hybrid projects?" She demanded when she finished.  
  
"When I joined them, I didn't know who they were." He admitted,  
  
sighing defeatedly. "I just got back from serving in the Vietnam  
  
War, and after seeing all that destruction, I wanted desperately  
  
to give a life everything a human being deserved. My wife and I  
  
wanted a daughter, and soon after I was told she was unable to  
  
have children, I was approached by a man. They had a little girl  
  
who needed a family, and we needed a child to make our house a home.  
  
When I agreed to take her, I had no idea as to who the man was.  
  
As time passed on, I was pulled into the group, conspiring with them,  
  
pulling strings for a single cause. I'm not a bad man, Dana. To protect  
  
the people I love, I had to do some very bad things."  
  
"Did you have anything to do with Mulder's arrest?" Scully demanded,  
  
gun still trained on him.  
  
"Oh God, Dana...I didn't want that to happen. After all, Mulder was the  
  
one standing between that man and my little girl. I wish there was  
  
something I could do to get him out of this ordeal." He sighed regrettably.  
  
"Sir, there is." Scully replied frankly, taking off the safety. "You can  
  
come forward with this information."  
  
"I know, I know...but if I let on that I come forward, they'll come after  
  
me and Jerilyn. I dont' care about my own ass, but I'll be damned if I let  
  
them take Jerilyn. You'd do the same for little William, and you know it."  
  
"Sir, I wouldn't if that meant two lives were to be destroyed because of  
  
my actions." She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a search warrant.  
  
"Admiral Bailey, I have a warrant to search your premisis. Am I going to find  
  
any more damning evidence?"  
  
"You can search all you want, Dana." The Admiral said softly.  
  
"Sir...I think you need to come back with me and explain all this to my partner."  
  
"Let me get my bags." Admiral Bailey consented.  
  
After the police left and the smoke cleared from the Deputy  
  
Director's office, Sam got the Assistant Director's  
  
permission to go home and rest. Lord knows he needed it  
  
after not sleeping more than three hours for the past two  
  
nights.  
  
He barely remembered hitting the pillow, but Sam still had  
  
a very troubled sleep.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" Starkweather seathed, a  
  
little girl stood with her blue-eyes wide at her pointing a  
  
gun at Sam. "Bailey," she said, eyes shifting to the little  
  
girl but not allowing the gun to move, "I want you to go to  
  
your room and play."  
  
"But Mommy!" the girl protested, "He said--"  
  
"Bailey," Starkweather insisted sharply, "I want you to go  
  
to your room and play with your toys. Please sweetheart,  
  
just go...I don't care what he said..."  
  
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!" She began as  
  
soon as Bailey was safely upstairs.  
  
"I'm only trying to help." Sam insisted quietly.  
  
"Help what?" She fumed, "My husband is supposed to be here  
  
now, not you. If you have abducted an FBI agent, sir, you  
  
should know that I will not hesitate to make sure you pay  
  
the full legal penalty." She c*cked the gun, "or maybe I  
  
should just let you rot in hell. Tell me, which do you  
  
prefer?"  
  
"Jerilyn, please," Sam pleaded, "I'm not here to hurt you.  
  
I'm here to make everything right."  
  
"Where did you come from?" She demanded, turning the safety  
  
off.  
  
"That's hard to say." Sam answered sheepishly.  
  
"Sir, you've got a gun pointed at you about to go off. I'd  
  
hate for your last words to be 'that's hard to say',  
  
wouldn't you? Now, before I blow your f*cking brains out, I  
  
suggest you tell me where my husband is."  
  
Somehow, Sam knew she was referring to Doggett.  
  
"Your husband is safe, Jerilyn. I'm here to help bring him  
  
home." Sam said simply.  
  
"How the h*ll am I supposed to believe that?" Starkweather  
  
retorted.  
  
"Why would I lie about something like that?" Sam answered  
  
bluntly.  
  
"Because you want me to let my gaurd down so I won't  
  
introduce you to St. Peter." Starkweather glowered, slowly  
  
stepping up to him brandishing her gun.  
  
"Starkweather...please...just listen for a second."  
  
Starkweather glanced at the clock, "You've got exactly  
  
three minutes to explain yourself." She threatened.  
  
"I built a time machine..." Sam began desperately, "Most of  
  
the time, people see me for whose ever life I am changing,  
  
but for some reason, you're seeing me for me."  
  
"And John Doggett is--"  
  
"In Project Quantum Leap waiting room--the government  
  
experiment enabling me to be here. He's safe, he's alive.  
  
People I trust implicitly are making sure of that."  
  
"Why are you here?" She said, finally putting the gun down.  
  
"To make sure things go the way they're supposed to."  
  
Sam woke up with a start.  
  
Dreams these days were making it harder and harder to fall asleep.  
  
later that afternoon  
  
*******************  
  
Jerilyn spent the early afternoon trying to make the peices  
  
fit, but it was like trying to merge fettucini alfredo with  
  
a bean burrito delux.  
  
Doggett wasn't even Doggett anymore...that was unhenging.  
  
Every ounce in her wanted to make Mulder pay for Ben's  
  
death. She wanted someone to pay for what happened, and  
  
Mulder was in the closest proximity to guilt.  
  
But it was true...all the evidence piled against him was  
  
circumstantial. It was also true that he didn't behave at  
  
all questionably before the murder. Something resounded in  
  
her with Mulder during their first encounter. Something  
  
familial. If he weren't such a jack-ass, she might actually  
  
be friends with him.  
  
"But facts is facts." Starkweather mumbled. "He's being  
  
prosecuted for my husbands murder, and nobody else seems to  
  
be guilty for it." She plunked the half-consumed Jack  
  
Daniels bottle down on the ground.  
  
She slumped onto the couch, and fell into a deep  
  
undisturbed sleep.  
  
Her next conscious moment was several hours later, it was  
  
dark outside and it took her a few minutes to register that  
  
someone was there in front of her.  
  
"You look like hell." Al said simply.  
  
Starkweather bridled in pain at the headache. She lunged at  
  
him, but just passed through him.  
  
"Who--" she sputtered, "What...the FUCK are you?!"  
  
"I am your fairy godfather. I'm here to make you an offer  
  
you can't refuse."  
  
"Gimme a break, she studied him quizzically, you sure as  
  
hell ain't Brando."  
  
"Maybe not...just think of me as your gaurdian angel."  
  
"Where are your wings, Clearance? And why the hell are you  
  
wearing a flaming red suit?"  
  
"St. Peter decided to let us wear colors because the stains  
  
were hiking up the cleaning bill." Al retorted.  
  
"Hey wait...I remember you!" Starkweather blurted out,  
  
"You're that guy--the one that was hear earlier--when  
  
Doggett wasn't Doggett!"  
  
"I don't know what the hell your talking about, Jerilyn."  
  
"How come you know my name?" Starkweather demanded.  
  
"We've been watching you for the past few days."  
  
"Watching me?" She puzzled, "Who's 'we'"  
  
"You know...us." Al said.  
  
"Why have you been watching me?" She demanded.  
  
"Basically because we don't get cable up in Heaven." Al  
  
deadpanned. "Harps loose their interest pretty quick."  
  
"What is in those clouds? LSD? Come off it! You are not an  
  
angel any more than I'm Shirley McLane."  
  
"Look," Al insisted, "I'm here to tell you Ben is fine.  
  
He's alive and he's fine."  
  
"The Gospel According to Fun-House-Mirror-Freak-in-a-  
  
Clownsuit." Starkweather deadpanned. "Ben's fine?!" She  
  
echoed immediately. "Look, Casper, I wanna believe  
  
you...but, since when do angels smoke?"  
  
"Alright, alright," Al admitted, "Ben's alive in a  
  
warehouse somewhere around here being held by the same  
  
people responsible for Mulder's abduction. I'm not an  
  
angel. I'm part of a top secret government project  
  
involving time travel called Quantum Leap. I'm a hologram  
  
here from fifteen years in the future and I'm here to make  
  
sure you're safe."  
  
"Yeah." Starkweather began incredulously, "Riiiiiiiiiiight.  
  
Well...I'll believe you are no angel."  
  
"Believe me, you're on thin ice right now Queenie...you  
  
shouldn't be mad at Mulder. He's done nothing to be mad  
  
*about*."  
  
"Alright...I won't be mad at Mulder, Ben's alive...maybe if  
  
I smile and nod you'll go away." Starkweather said crisply.  
  
Al sighed heavily, "Starkweather, you've gotta help  
  
Mulder." he pleaded quietly.  
  
"Why?" she fired back, "he deserves to be in jail for what  
  
he did."  
  
Al shook his head.  
  
"Doesn't he?" She questioned. For some reason, against all  
  
logic and explanation, she believed the man standing before  
  
her.  
  
Al was getting desperate for answers. He wasn't getting  
  
through.  
  
"That's not the only reason you have to help the Deputy  
  
Mayor."  
  
"Just because he saved my ass doesn't mean I have to break  
  
him outta jail like some bad episode of the A-Team!" She  
  
fired back.  
  
"No...because," Al said with a heavy sigh, "he's family."  
  
Starkweather stood open-mouthed. "He's WHAT?!"  
  
"There is a 98.5 % chance that you and Fox Mulder are  
  
blood-related."  
  
"What?!?! How?!?!?"  
  
"That is being investigated." Al replied. "We don't know,  
  
but that's being looked into."  
  
"By whom?"  
  
"Scully." Al answered simply. "As we speak, I think."  
  
She shot up and whispered, "Fuckin' A!"  
  
"My sentiments exactly. Look, please...just don't point  
  
fingers at Mulder. He can help you keep Ben alive."  
  
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Starkweather  
  
demanded.  
  
"Kid, this is too hard to pull outta thin air. My name's  
  
Calivici. Just look me up in about fifteen years and I'll  
  
explain everything."  
  
"Oh, I'm gonna be dead in fifteen years." Starkweather  
  
smirked "That's comforting."  
  
With that, the man in front of her pushed a couple of  
  
buttons, a bright blue rectangle appeared, the man stepped  
  
through it, and Al was gone.  
  
"Geez...I always thought heaven was white, not blue." she  
  
mumbled, and nursed her hangover with a long bubblebath.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Back to the Future...  
  
QL HQ  
  
Doggett REALLY hated wearing the white leotard. He found it  
  
uncomfortably tight, especially around certain sensitive  
  
special areas. He felt like he was walking around with a  
  
permanent wedgie, which would ruin any man's mood.  
  
So Al should have been more forgiving when Doggett bit his  
  
head off when Al popped in to check on him. "What the  
  
hell's been going on???"  
  
Al, tired, annoyed and throughly sick of just about anybody  
  
even remotely connected with the X-Files, glared at him,  
  
"Shut up, Puppy Man," he snapped.  
  
"I see you've been talkin' to Mul-dah," Doggett drawled  
  
nastily.  
  
Al resisted the urge to slug him. "Yeah, I popped in on  
  
Spooky." Al pulled up a chair. "And Starkweather."  
  
Doggett, barely noticeable, softened at her name. "And?"  
  
"Well, he's in jail, she's a mess, other than that," Al  
  
light up a cigar, "Pretty good."  
  
"PRETTY GOOD??" Doggett exploded, taking the cigar out of  
  
Al's mouth and throwing it across the room. He loomed over  
  
Al, thrusting a finger in his face. "Now you listen to me  
  
you slippery son-of-a-bitch, don't you just stand there and  
  
give me smart ass comments about 'pretty good,'" he yelled.  
  
"I'm sick of this BS! I'm sick of gettin' jacked around.  
  
I'm sick of Starkweather getting the shaft because you're  
  
dicking around with me, not telling the whole truth. If  
  
finding Ben's what we gotta do, then let's do it instead of  
  
standing around and pissing in the wind. I'm sick of this  
  
hellhole, I'm sick of these tights, I'm sick of you and I  
  
want to go home."  
  
This time Al didn't hold back his urge to hit Doggett-in-  
  
Sam. His punch landed solidly on his jaw. He stood up and  
  
pushed Doggett away from him. "Now YOU listen to ME, buddy-  
  
boy. I'm just as sick of this crap as you are! I wanna get  
  
rid of you as bad as you want outta here. The only way we  
  
can do that is to put right what went wrong and what went  
  
wrong is Mulder and Starkweather getting killed so instead  
  
of acting like a typical Marine jack ass, act like a god  
  
damn fed. I need your help Doggett. Mulder and Starkweather  
  
are dead in the water if you don't grow the f*ck up!"  
  
Doggett-in-Sam wiped the blood off of his lip. "You throw a  
  
good punch, seaman," he said gruffly.  
  
Al pulled out another cigar and lit it. "Yeah... well..."  
  
Al muttered "my hand's gonna hurt for the next few days."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Can we get to work?"  
  
"Alright."  
  
Verbeena had watched the entire exchanged through the newly  
  
reconstructed two-way mirror, shaking her head.  
  
Men she thought as she went to check on Ziggy. Past,  
  
present, future, it didn't matter, they were still  
  
unfathomable...  
  
"So," Doggett said, subdued. "Wha'cha got?"  
  
Al rubbed his eyes. He was very tired. If Sam had only  
  
gotten three hours of sleep, Al had gotten less. "Well...as  
  
far as info, not much, except confirmation from Ziggy that  
  
Mulder and Starkweather are brother and sister."  
  
If Doggett was surprised by that revelation, he carefully  
  
concealed it. "Did you tell them?" he asked evenly.  
  
"Yeah," Al said, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Actually  
  
that part was kind of fun."  
  
"I assume they took the news less than well."  
  
"Safe assumption," Al nodded. "Anyways, beyond that...  
  
we're still on Square One."  
  
Doggett sat quietly, lost in thought. "There's the old  
  
cliche..." he finally said after enough time had past for  
  
Al to smoke half of his cigar away, "'those who do not  
  
study history are doomed to repeat it.'"  
  
"Boy, ain't that the truth," Al said, "I flunked sixth  
  
grade American history. Had to do a whole session of summer  
  
school or else they were gonna let me go on to junior high.  
  
And I squeaked by with a C minus cus this really cute girl  
  
who liked me wrote my history papers for me..." Al trailed  
  
off, noting that Doggett-in-Sam was once again giving him  
  
the look of death. "Sorry... anyway... continue..."  
  
"I was sayin'" Doggett said patiently, sitting down at the  
  
little table, reaching for the file, "that I think the  
  
truth is in here. In the past. There's gotta be somethin'  
  
more, somethin' we're missing. Somethin' we've got to study  
  
up on to more understand what the holy hell is goin' on."  
  
Doggett got out the legal pad and pen he had received  
  
yesterday. He tore off the page of doodles and the  
  
beginnings of brainstorming and started with a clean sheet.  
  
"Okay, fill in any blanks if you can, Admiral. So," he  
  
began to theorize aloud the list as he wrote, "Now, this  
  
whole mess started a year ago when Mulder and I  
  
investigated the oil rig. A year later, me, Scully and  
  
Starkweather investigate a fighter plane crash whose base  
  
has an fuelling contract with the same said oil rig.  
  
Suddenly, here comes Ben, prosecuting the oil rig for  
  
environmental negligence, a whole year later," he sighed.  
  
"And that's what's getting ME. That's the second thing  
  
doesn't make sense to me." He scrawled on the page his two  
  
questions. "One, what IS the connection between the oil rig  
  
and the plane crash in Scotland-"  
  
Al interrupted. "Starkweather was working on that, but  
  
after her... um, personal difficulties, I asked Mulder to  
  
pick up where she left off."  
  
"Can you get me what she had so far?"  
  
"I can try," Al said. "But remember, in the future, the X-  
  
Files is under lock and key. It was reclassified into a  
  
military jurisdiction and no fed or laymen could get their  
  
hands on any X-File."  
  
Doggett, for the first time in a long time, smiled. "But  
  
you AREN'T a laymen or a fed," he reminded him. "You're a  
  
retired Admiral."  
  
"Ahhhhhhhhhh........" Al said. "I'll get right on that.  
  
What was your second question?"  
  
"My second question is... why did they wait so long to  
  
prosecute Galpex? And for something as weak as  
  
environmental destruction? Why not the murders of the men  
  
on board? I understand that law suits take time... believe  
  
me, I fully understand that... but, from the way  
  
Starkweather was talking, this was sprung onto Ben like  
  
less than three weeks ago... it's like pulling a rookie out  
  
of the minor leagues and telling him he's going to take  
  
Sammy Sosa's place for the day." Doggett shook his head.  
  
"And the revenue the law firm was going to earn from the  
  
case was astronomical..."  
  
"So why let a kid handle it?" Al was beginning to see where  
  
Doggett was going.  
  
"Exactly," Doggett said, opening the file up. "I'm just  
  
wondering if someone dirty is working at the Law Firm of  
  
Carter, Spangle and Adams." He started thumbing through the  
  
file pages. "Someone dirty, someone with power enough to  
  
manipulate case assignments but still being maneuvered by  
  
someone else, someone with a vendetta..."  
  
"Someone like-" Al started to say but Doggett beat him to  
  
the punch.  
  
"Justin Leo."  
  
"Hot damn!" Al yelped in glee, but stopped his victory  
  
dance when he saw the look on his face. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Al..." Doggett said, thin-lipped and white. "Maybe I'm  
  
goin' stir crazy and all... but... Mulder's murder date  
  
changed."  
  
"What?" Al said, heart sinking lower and lower into his  
  
bowels.  
  
"I swear to God, it was dated four days from now... now  
  
it's saying time of death, 6:30 PM, June 19... that's  
  
tomorrow night... am I losing my mind?"  
  
"No," Al said, trying to fight off the panic. "That's the  
  
hazards of working in Quantum Leap..." Without saying  
  
goodbye, he stormed out of the chamber, issuing orders at a  
  
bark, "Verbeena, get General Keeling on the phone, tell him  
  
I need File X081601 emailed to me sometime in the next two  
  
hours and remind him he owes me a big time favor since it's  
  
because of me that he's not in jail and he's not divorced.  
  
Tina, darling, me everything there is about Carter, Spangle  
  
and Adams and that little shit Leo. Goushie!!! Find Sam and  
  
center me on him..."  
  
The shitstorm of all time was about to strike.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
back at the warehouse...  
  
After sleeping for a bit, Ben finally gotten over his  
  
nausea. He managed to even get cleaned up a little bit,  
  
there was a bar of moldering soap on the ancient sink and a  
  
ratty old washcloth. After scraping off the scum from the  
  
soap, he stripped down to his boxers and gave himself a  
  
sink bath, which, afterwards, he felt marginally better.  
  
Air-drying, he sat on his squeaky cot and ate the  
  
sandwiches and fruit left behind for him, surprised to find  
  
himself ravenously hungry. When finished with the meager  
  
meal his captors/protectors left him, he smoked a  
  
cigarette, pondering on his next move.  
  
Feeling better, despite the headache that lingered from the  
  
blow giving to him from CSM, Ben found, to his immense  
  
relief, his wits were beginning to come back together  
  
again.  
  
He did not believe for one red hot minute that Jerilyn was  
  
dead. He did not have any logic or tangible evidence. He  
  
was listening to his heart, for, even though the girl  
  
exasperated him, frustrated him and infuriated him, he knew  
  
she loved him and he, her. They had "clicked" the minute  
  
they met each other. They were tied together through a  
  
force stronger than friendship, stronger than sex, stronger  
  
than marriage. And Ben fully believed in the spiritual ties  
  
between people who loved each other. He would have known,  
  
somehow, if something bad would have happened to her. If  
  
she would have died, he would have felt a part of him die  
  
with her within his soul. They were, he firmly believed,  
  
soul mates.  
  
Just because they were soul mates, didn't necessarily mean  
  
they should have been married, but Ben remembered the  
  
thundering voice of the priest who married them "Let no man  
  
bring asunder what God hast bound together." Which troubled  
  
him, but that was a bridge they would jump off together  
  
once they were finally together again.  
  
Pushing their marital issues onto the back burner, Ben  
  
redressed and began to assess his present situation, which  
  
was not good, he realized with a faltering heart. The door  
  
was metal and barricaded from the outside. There were no  
  
ceiling panels he could climb out of. There were no  
  
windows. Ben didn't even really know how much time had  
  
passed, his watch had been broken during the scuffle with  
  
the Men in Black who had borne him away to this nightmare.  
  
Pacing, smoking another cigarette, Ben, just as big of a  
  
movie buff as his wife, drew strength from quotes from two  
  
of his favorite movies: the line Tom Hank's Oscar winning  
  
character muttered over and over in the movie  
  
"Philadelphia" - "For every problem, there is a solution"  
  
and from Alan Ruck's indelible portrayal of the uptight  
  
Cameron in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" - "I am not just  
  
going to sit on my ass..."  
  
"'I am not going to sit on my ass,'" Ben mumbled, throwing  
  
the butt of his finished cigarette into the toilet and  
  
reaching into the pack of a new one "'For every  
  
situation... there is a solution...'" He told himself that  
  
he had served as a soldier in the United States Air  
  
National Guard. He told himself about the time he and  
  
Jerilyn went to New Orleans for their honeymoon and he had  
  
fought off the thugs who tried to steal Jerilyn's purse  
  
when they had gotten lost in a "bad" part of town. He told  
  
himself that he was married to one of the finest and  
  
sharpest FBI agents ever to have graced the halls of J.  
  
Edgar Hoover, albeit also the crankiest. He was betting on  
  
her tenacity and her arrogance to go blithely off and try  
  
and save the world, to discover the truth behind whatever  
  
lie they fed her about his disappearance.  
  
However, he also knew he couldn't just wait around for  
  
Jerilyn to be leading the cavalry to him. He had to meet  
  
her halfway. He had to get out of this pit. Plus, he  
  
worried greatly, what if he was merely a lure to draw  
  
Jerilyn into the open... these mysterious people, the ones  
  
she had referred to as "The Syndicate" had tried to kill  
  
her once... no... twice... no three times before and that  
  
was just on her first official case on the X-Files. What if  
  
his disappearance was just one big trap?  
  
Ben sighed as he lit his cigarette. Then, his eyes widened  
  
as his looked at the glow of the cherry. His holders had  
  
left him a weapon... they had left his handed unbound and  
  
they left him a weapon.  
  
Ben checked the box of Morleys. He had half a pack left. He  
  
had a lighter. He had the strength of a youthful, free body  
  
to his advantage. He sat down on his cot, smoking, with a  
  
grim smile on his face.  
  
Let that smokey bastard come visit him again. He would get  
  
the burn of his life and then Ben was going to run like  
  
hell.  
  
He had to. He had a goal to live for. He had to keep  
  
together what God hast bound. He was not going to let those  
  
vows be brought assunder by Special Agent John Doggett.  
  
Meanwhile  
  
back at Ben and Jeri's apartment  
  
Jerilyn got out of the tub, shivering. She towelled herself  
  
off and coiled her wet hair in a bun. She crossed over to  
  
her bedroom to get dressed. Just then her phone rang. She  
  
checked the caller ID: **Mom and Dad S**. Jerilyn closed  
  
her eyes. It was the call she had been dreading.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Jeri, hi, it's Linda," The voice of Ben's sweet, gentle  
  
mother crackled through. "We hadn't heard from you yet. We  
  
were getting worried." It wasn't intended as a guilt trip,  
  
for Linda Starkweather did play those kind of manipulative  
  
games. She was one of those very rare people who always  
  
always put others in front of her, even when she herself  
  
was in great anguish.  
  
Still, it made Jerilyn feel terrible. "Oh, I'm sorry," she  
  
whispered. "I didn't mean to worry you, it's... these past  
  
two days... have been really hard..."  
  
"I know, I know," Linda's voice was calm but quiet, as if  
  
she had already cried her tears and was now dealing with  
  
the inevitable. "It's been hard for us too. We understand  
  
completely but please, don't keep all of your hurt locked  
  
up within you. You're all we have left of Ben now. I don't  
  
want you to shut us out."  
  
Jerilyn cracked a thin smile. "You know me too well."  
  
"Well, your boss, that nice man... Mr. Skinner? When he  
  
told us... the news... he asked us to look out after you.  
  
He said you weren't taking what happened very well."  
  
Jerilyn pressed her lips together and closed her eyes.  
  
"It's... it's just been really hard," she repeated, her  
  
voice cracking.  
  
"That's why I wanted to get in touch with you. It IS hard,"  
  
Linda said "but we have to stay together to get through  
  
this together." When Ben told her that Jerilyn had lost her  
  
mother to cancer at the tender age of sixteen, Linda went  
  
out of her way to act as a surrogate mom to her. "We're  
  
family, Jeri. Just because Ben's gone, doesn't mean we're  
  
still not family."  
  
Fresh grief ripped Jerilyn apart. "Okay..." she whimpered  
  
to her mother-in-law. "Okay..."  
  
"We would love it if you would come stay with us for  
  
awhile. Or else Luke and I can come and stay with you...  
  
I... wouldn't mind looking through Benjamin's things for  
  
some keepsakes..."  
  
A fresh wave of guilt crashed over her. A bad memory gushed  
  
forth... the night she had left for Scotland... the huge  
  
fight she gotten into with Ben because she was leaving for  
  
a case while his parents had made a special trip from  
  
Minneapolis to DC to visit... "I would love it if you would  
  
come," she said. "That would be really nice."  
  
"We would like the funeral to be here... to have Ben buried  
  
in the family plot."  
  
"That's not a problem..." Jerilyn clutched the phone. "Ben  
  
would want that." The ultimate irony. Ben would be going  
  
home at last.  
  
"We can arrange the funeral from here... but Jeri, dear.  
  
Could you pick out a suit for him? Or maybe get his dress  
  
blues (his formal uniform from his days in the Air National  
  
Guard) dry-cleaned? I know..." now Linda's voice cracked.  
  
"I know the funeral has to be closed-casket and all,  
  
but..."  
  
"I think he'd want to be buried in his blues. I'll get  
  
those ready." Jerilyn gulped, took a deep breath and asked,  
  
"How's Luke?"  
  
"Oh... he's taking this hard. We all are." Linda said  
  
softly, "He's been spending alot of time at church, talking  
  
it over with Father Anderson... trying to make sense of it  
  
all."  
  
"Tell him... tell him Ben died a hero..." Jerilyn still  
  
fought against the tears. "Tell him Ben was just trying to  
  
do what he thought was right..."  
  
Silence. Then the sound of muffled weeping. "Yes. Yes... I  
  
will tell him. Stay in touch, Jerilyn."  
  
"I will..."  
  
"We'll see you soon."  
  
"Alright... goodbye." Jerilyn put the receiver down. "He  
  
was just trying to do what was right..." she repeated as  
  
she stood up to get dressed. She slipped on a pair of  
  
khakis shorts and a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater.  
  
She went to the closet and started digging for his old  
  
uniform, which she found easily enough, but was unsure as  
  
to where his decorations and dress shoes would be.  
  
Standing on her tiptoes, she looked at the neat rows of  
  
labelled boxes on the top shelf. Finally, she found the one  
  
marked "Air Force Stuff" and she pulled it down.  
  
When she took that box down, the one on top of that fell to  
  
the floor, landing upside down. Putting the Air Force box  
  
on the bed, Jerilyn crouched down to pick up the fallen box  
  
but all the contents fell out. "Oh God..." she moaned,  
  
sitting down, Indian style, casting the empty box aside.  
  
Baby clothes. Tiny little shoes. A pacifer and some small  
  
stuffed toys. The things Linda had bought for her at Baby  
  
Gap and Toys 'R Us that horrible, horrible day they went  
  
shopping at the Mall of America for her unborn child. Her  
  
hospital wristband they had put on her when paramedics  
  
wheeled her into the emergency as the baby left her body in  
  
a quagmire of blood and fluids. A bouquet of dried roses,  
  
what Ben had brought her when she was finally released from  
  
Intensive Care and into a regular hospital room.  
  
Jerilyn reached for the little stuffed Beanie Baby teddy  
  
bear and held it close to her.  
  
You're all we have left of Ben now. Linda had said.  
  
But I have nothing Jerilyn thought and clutching the  
  
small stuffed toy, she leaned against the dresser and began  
  
to cry.  
  
Later that afternoon  
  
5:47 PM  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
*******************  
  
"Dana," the Admiral said as they climbed into the car. "I  
  
wish I could say something to make you understand why I  
  
worked with those people."  
  
"The only thing I understand is that a man is dead and  
  
another man's life for all intents and purposes is over"  
  
Scully fired back, "because you didn't give your daughter  
  
the chance to fight for herself."  
  
Aside from the pleasantries and occasional considerations,  
  
not another word was said between them for the rest of the  
  
flight.  
  
Instead of taking a second class plane back, as angry as  
  
she was, Scully didn't decline the Admiral's offer to take  
  
his private jet.  
  
After an hour and a half of uncomfortable silence, Scully  
  
was glad to get off the plane with the Admiral. She really  
  
felt sympathy for Starkweather. She was going to have to  
  
learn the truth about her father and the man who raised  
  
her, whether she wanted to hear it or not.  
  
They finally made it to her apartment but Scully couldn't  
  
help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the old family  
  
friend. He's right, after all. She would have done the same  
  
for William. Without a second hesitation.  
  
"Admiral, for what it's worth, she's a strong woman." She  
  
said as they pulled up to her apartment. "I think she would  
  
have been able to protect herself just fine. I just hope  
  
you two can make amends once the air clears."  
  
"Dana, I owe it to Lynn to be honest about this. I am going  
  
to come clean with her. If I ever hope of earning her trust  
  
and respect back, we must be truthful."  
  
"Admiral, can I ask you something?"  
  
"Sure Dana." He replied slowly.  
  
"Is Ben still alive?"  
  
"Dana--you did his autopsy."  
  
"No." Dana answered bluntly, "Ben had brown eyes. The man I  
  
did an autopsy on had blue eyes. Last time brown eyes  
  
turned blue was in a song. Is your son-in-law still living?  
  
Before you answer that, you better think good and hard  
  
about the criminal charges I promise you'd be facing for  
  
aiding and abetting a murder."  
  
"Is that a threat Dana?" He tested.  
  
"Sir, I think that's a garauntee." Scully fired back, with  
  
a look that didn't need the barrell of a gun to accompany  
  
it.  
  
Suddenly, the Admiral looked about forty years older as he  
  
sighed defeatedly, looking as though all the air had been  
  
let out of him.  
  
"At least I feel safe with my little girl in the FBI with  
  
you watching her back."  
  
"Sir, like you said, you owe it to your family to come  
  
clean with this. Please." Scully pleaded with him now, "No  
  
more lies. No more half-truths. No more excuses."  
  
"Yes." He admitted softly. Ben's alive. He's in the Lincoln  
  
Warehouse being held there."  
  
"Thank you sir. I hope Jerrilyn can forgive you easier than  
  
I can.  
  
With that, Scully climbed out of the cab, and the Admiral  
  
whipped out his cell phone as the cab drove off.  
  
"God, I hate these things." He mumbled to himself. "Leo,"  
  
He said as soon as Justin answered, "make sure the  
  
councelor is moved from his current location."  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Back at Ben and Jeri's apartment  
  
Jerilyn had cried herself back to sleep. Sleep was such a  
  
welcome escape, when she wasn't plagued by strange dreams.  
  
The phone woke her up with a start. Jerilyn crawled to the  
  
nightstand and looked at the caller ID. **Admiral's cell**,  
  
it read.  
  
Jerilyn grabbed the phone. "Dad?"  
  
Alone, in his hotel room, the Admiral nursed a drink.  
  
"Angel," he said.  
  
"Dad... Ben... he's gone... they killed him," she began to  
  
blubber incoherently.  
  
"Jeri, Jeri, I know, I know... I heard the news... angel,  
  
I'm so sorry..." The Admiral was sickened by his own  
  
hypocrisy but the wheels had already been set in motion. He  
  
only hoped that Scully would find Ben in time, despite the  
  
phone call to Leo. In time to save Ben, but only after  
  
Mulder was eliminated. If there was only a way to save  
  
all three the Admiral mourned, for he genuinely liked  
  
Mulder, had sought him out to save Jerilyn from the  
  
Syndicate. But the Syndicate had discovered his double-  
  
cross and now someone would have to pay the price. Not Ben.  
  
And definitely not Jerilyn. Not his little girl. He already  
  
had to sacrifice Lynnette, his first wife.  
  
Plus... there might... however slim... there might be a  
  
chance that Mulder could even save himself, although the  
  
Admiral wondered how. But then again, this was a man who  
  
nearly drowned, escaped a burning train car, survived from  
  
being lost in the desert and being lost in the Anarctic,  
  
defused a bomb threat in a bank, was abducted by God-only-  
  
knows-what, hell, literally rose from the dead... there  
  
might be a chance.  
  
The Cancer Man had referred to Mulder as the alley cat with  
  
nine times nine times nine lives. The Admiral, perhaps due  
  
to his retirement in Arizona, had thought of Mulder more  
  
along the lines of the Phoenix, the beautiful mythological  
  
bird who purposely built a funeral pyre only to rise from  
  
the flames, more powerful and lustrous than before.  
  
As he listened to his twenty-eight year old daughter weep  
  
for her husband,he sincerely hoped Mulder would pass  
  
through these flames unscathed.  
  
But he doubted it.  
  
And so, it was up to Scully to save Ben. He prayed that she  
  
wouldn't be killed in the process, he'd hate to see William  
  
grow up an orphan.  
  
"Jerilyn, angel, believe me," he said, breaking into his  
  
daughter's sobs. "It will get better," hopefully with  
  
Mulder out of the way and Ben home.  
  
Starkweather was sound asleep finally after the emotional  
  
exhaustion of her mother-in-law's phonecall. And then again  
  
with her adoptive father. The room was dark when she awoke  
  
from her couch. The abrupt reality was finally sinking into  
  
her system. She had dabbled in a few psychology courses at  
  
Quantico. What did that chapter on grief say? Her  
  
photographic memory told her that there were five stages of  
  
the process.  
  
She wondered if people who had made that process up had  
  
ever actually experienced deep grief. Acceptance was the  
  
last stage of grief, but it seemed to Starkweather that she  
  
had already accepted the fact that she was dead. Shock and  
  
denial were the first two steps and she seemed to have  
  
skipped those altogether.  
  
The news of Ben's death immediately sparked anger. Anger at  
  
Ben for leaving her, especially without reconciliation, but  
  
Ben wasn't at arm's length. Mulder, unfortunately for her  
  
future working relationship with Scully and Doggett, was.  
  
Bargainning was the next stage. To Starkweather's mind, she  
  
had absolutely nothing to bargain with. If they hadn't  
  
fought that night, Ben wouldn't have died. But, Jerilyn  
  
thought with a sigh, she wasn't the first widow. People die  
  
every day as long as people have been living. Simple as  
  
that. It was a common tragedy and there wasn't a damn thing  
  
she could do about changing that fact except making sure  
  
the people who did this to him paid for their crimes. Maybe  
  
then Ben's ghost would let her rest.  
  
Starkweather was jolted out of her thoughts with the shrill  
  
ring of the phone.  
  
"Mrs. Starkweather, this is Jessy Spangle on behalf of  
  
Carter, Spangle and Adams. I'm calling to personally offer  
  
condolances on behalf of all of us here. We all miss him."  
  
"Thank you." she said softly.  
  
"I'm truly sorry for your loss. I hate to bring this up at  
  
such a tragic time as this, but Mr. Starkweather's personal  
  
affects are still in his office..." the man trailed off  
  
awkwardly.  
  
"Oh--I--uh--completely forgot. I'm terribly sorry, Ms.  
  
Spangle." Starkweather stammerred sheepishly.  
  
"Mrs. Starkweather," she corrected, "if you would prefer, I  
  
can get his things delivered to your apartment.  
  
"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." She said softly. Then,  
  
lightening-quick, she had an idea. "Can you send me the  
  
files of his last case?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid we can't, Mrs. Starkweather," she  
  
answered. "That information is in the senior partner's  
  
hands now to prepare for prosecution of the upcomming  
  
murder trial of Deputy Mayor Mulder."  
  
"I thought the DA typically handled situations such as  
  
those." She fired back. "Since when does an environmental  
  
practice take care of murder charges."  
  
"We are part of the D.A.'s argument on a consultant level."  
  
Jessy replied coolly. "Mr. Starkweather's case was a direct  
  
result of the Deputy Mayor's arrest, and we are continuing  
  
with the investigation in his memory."  
  
"I see." Jerilyn answered. "Thank you. Have a good  
  
evening."  
  
She needed access to that casefile from the lawfirm's  
  
database. Unfortunately, the only people she knew who could  
  
hack into that file were three people in the running for  
  
computer geeks of the year.  
  
Meanwhile.....  
  
Sam pulled up in front of Starkweather's apartment  
  
building, slightly apprehensive. Starkweather, to say the  
  
least had almost left the Land of Sanity for a trip to La  
  
La Land.  
  
With trepidation, he let himself in and rang her doorbell.  
  
Starkweather opened the door, "Hey Papa John," she said,  
  
with a weak smile. Sam noted, with a little amusement, that  
  
Starkweather was not an attractive lady when she wept or  
  
recovering from a bout of tears. Her eyes were bloodshot  
  
and her face was blotchy. Starkweather must have realized  
  
how un-pretty she looked because she said wryly "Yes, I  
  
don't cry like a Hollywood glamour puss. My nose drips with  
  
snot, my eyes get all red..." she shook her head. "Come on  
  
in, Doggett."  
  
Sam did. "You should have called," he chided her.  
  
Starkweather shrugged. "Yeah... well..."  
  
"Starkweather..."  
  
"I know I know... stop being a lone soldier, let others  
  
help you, but dammit Doggett... tell me who the fuck I can  
  
trust? Skinner--understandably--is pissed at me because  
  
I've been less than professional... Scully is awesome...  
  
but... lord... I knew she and Mulder had some sort of thing  
  
going on... but I didn't know it was THAT serious...  
  
I mean I heard the rumors that Mulder may very well be the  
  
proud papa of Will... but... well... what if Mulder's guilty  
  
you know? Shit, man... I feel like I can't even trust my own  
  
father... I can't even trust my own MIND... I had a mental  
  
breakdown earlier... I'm seeing things... a person who's  
  
not even there... so who? Who can I trust?"  
  
"Me," Sam put his hands on her shoulders. "You can trust  
  
me, Doc."  
  
Starkweather looked up him. "Yeah..." She clenched and  
  
unclenched her fists over and over. "Doggett, if you  
  
weren't here... I don't know..." she looked at the ground,  
  
trying not to succumb to a fresh bout of tears, trying to  
  
revert back into FBI mentality. "I'm going to get the...  
  
um... Lone Gunmen to hack into the mainframe of Carter,  
  
Spangle and Adams so I can get ahold of the oil rig case  
  
that Ben was working on... I swear to God... there's a  
  
connection to this... and I owe Ben at least this much...  
  
to figure out exactly why he was..." She put her hand to  
  
her eyes. "Oh god dammit Doggett," she whimpered, "Things  
  
with me and Ben were supposed to be BETTER when we moved  
  
here."  
  
Sam drew her close to him. "Starkweather... as hard as it  
  
is to believe right now... it will get better..."  
  
Starkweather didn't respond, she had lost her battle with  
  
the weak tears and was sobbing silently into his chest.  
  
Sam so desperately wanted to kiss her. Not to "start"  
  
anything, he respected her too much just to jump into the  
  
sack with her. Just to comfort her, to give her physical  
  
reassurance, to make her like that someone gave a damn.  
  
But Ben was still alive... and he didn't think the real  
  
Doggett would have, so he just cuddled her.  
  
Just then, Al appeared.  
  
7:43pm  
  
Sedai Residence  
  
Ana Sedai sat in her kitchen nervously fidgetting with her  
  
coffee mug waiting for the water to boil. Her hair,  
  
originally mousey brown and now dyed a vibrant red,  
  
glistened in the light of the setting sun shining through  
  
the window. She thought the light almost looked tangible  
  
just then, the way the beams came up through the clouds. If  
  
you found just the right spot, she wondered if you could  
  
climb up to the very sun itself.  
  
Her brother Justin was on his way over for dinner with her  
  
family that evening. She hoped, for his sake as well as her  
  
own, that he had let Lily rest in peace.  
  
Ana was good friends with Lily before she disappeared.  
  
They had gone to church together, sat side by side in the  
  
choir, worked side by side at charity functions. The weeks  
  
before graduation, Lilly had bored Ana to tears with  
  
stories of how wonderful her step-brother was. She  
  
remembered Justin showing her the ring he was planning to  
  
give her and wondering flipantly if he would ever actually  
  
have the guts to give it to her.  
  
"That would be Justin." She said quietly, sighing anxiously  
  
as she went to answer the door.  
  
Her son Peter was sitting in the greatroom zombily staring  
  
at the television set. Sometimes she wondered if he was  
  
conscious of what he was looking at. If she was going to  
  
have a heart-to-heart with her step-brother, he would have  
  
to go.  
  
"Peter, honey," she chirpped sweetly, "can you go play  
  
video games in your room while I talk with your uncle?"  
  
Without a word, the boy left the room, and she opened the  
  
door.  
  
"You look...tired...Jus." she said after they hugged their  
  
hellos.  
  
"Just a lot going on these days, Ana. Big case at work  
  
piling up on me. Where's Mr. Sedai?"  
  
"He's got a convention in Boston, Justin," she looked at  
  
him frankly, "you're not a part of a lawfirm anymore."  
  
"Who told you?" he demanded.  
  
"You still have my house listed as your mailing address.  
  
Your unemployment check came Thursday." She said with a  
  
thin, wan smile crossing her lips, waving the check like a  
  
white flag.  
  
"I'm working...with some people that may help me find  
  
Lily, Ana." he said, sighing heavily. "They told me they  
  
know where she is and a man told me he could get her back."  
  
"Do you really think Lilly is going to want you anymore?"  
  
She fired back. "You're not the same man you were the night  
  
she left!" Her words seared into him. "This--obsession--you  
  
have with her--has turned you into some kinda monster.  
  
You're not a man anymore." she said sadly. "You're her  
  
ghost."  
  
"I don't know what else to do, Ana." He whispered hoarsely.  
  
"I can't give up on her. I don't even care if she would  
  
still marry me anymore. My life is no longer my own. I  
  
can't sleep--I barely eat enough to live. If these people  
  
are who they say they are and can help me find her--then  
  
maybe I can be redeemed. I am the reason those--those--  
  
things took her. The worst part of it is," he said,  
  
choaking down sobs, "I didn't do a damn thing to stop it. I  
  
just let that beam carry her up. I just let them take her  
  
away."  
  
"Be fair to you, Jus. To me." She pleaded. "Could you  
  
honestly have done something without getting yourself  
  
killed?"  
  
"The scary part is, ever since that night, I don't think  
  
I've been alive."  
  
"Do you think Lilly would be happy right now knowing what  
  
this has done to you? Now," she said with a warm smile,  
  
"come on and help me with the salad."  
  
The dinnertable was nervously quiet; forged conversations  
  
had never been either one's forte. The meal, consisting of  
  
Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes overdone limabeans and  
  
a salad, gave all who were present a gratefull excuse to be  
  
silent.  
  
Finally, Peter broke the silence with an announcement after  
  
one last long gulp of milk. "The coach wants us there  
  
forty-five minutes early for pictures at practice tomorrow,  
  
Mom."  
  
"I hated picture days when I was your age." Justin began.  
  
"This one time, I was on a team just like you are and we  
  
had to take a picture, only just before, two of the guys on  
  
my team had bothered a wasp nest under the bleachers. Right  
  
before picture time, a whole bunch of wasps came flying at  
  
all of us. We musta looked pretty silly all nine of us  
  
hopping into the Coach's van!"  
  
"I betchya would've looked even sillier in the pictures if  
  
the wasps hadn't come." Peter sneared.  
  
"Eat your limabeans, Peter." Ana scolded her son crisply.  
  
"If you don't finish them you won't get desert."  
  
"Your Mom has cherry pie tonight, Pete. You better eat up."  
  
Justin urged helpfully.  
  
"I don't like cherry pie." Peter grumbled.  
  
"You haven't had *this* cherry pie." Justin coaxed.  
  
"I've had five peices of cherry pie, and I didn't like any  
  
of 'em. Why should I like the sixth."  
  
"Your mom didn't make this one." That remark earned Justin  
  
a playful punch in the shoulder from his step-sister.  
  
"We have your favorite icecream--the Ben&Jerry's Phishfood  
  
in the freezer. That's where it will stay if you don't  
  
finish up your limabeans."  
  
"Besides, kiddo, you gotta eat your veggies. If you don't  
  
you'll look like me and girls won't touch you with a ten  
  
foot pole."  
  
That persuaded the boy to eat his lima beans. With those  
  
finished, he took his plate over to the sink, and the other  
  
two adults followed.  
  
"He's at a difficult age." She said, excusing his attitude.  
  
"So am I." Justin replied as he began clearning the dishes.  
  
"So how's the jobhunt coming?" Ana asked as she ran the  
  
plates under the faucet.  
  
"I told you, I've got a job." Justin answered, subsequently  
  
loading the plates into the dishwasher. "I'm defending the  
  
Deputy Mayor of DC. It's all in the papers."  
  
"Yeah, I heard about that. The case any good?" She said  
  
over the running water rinsing the silverware.  
  
"All the evidence against him is circumstantial. The DA's  
  
got nothing solid on him." He said over the clinking of the  
  
silverware in the dishwasher.  
  
"I don't think you're telling me everything, Justin."  
  
"I don't think you need to know everything, Ana."  
  
"Listen, Jus. I'm looking out for *you* here. Your my half-  
  
brother...but I never thought of us like that. I just don't  
  
want anything to happen to you because of someone who may  
  
or may not be alive."  
  
"When the Deputy Mayor was in the FBI, he specialized in  
  
alien activity. If he can't help me find her, then the  
  
people who put me on that case can."  
  
"What do you mean?" She demanded, raising a questionning  
  
eyebrow.  
  
"These people who put me on this case...they're fighting a  
  
cause...this old guy and this blonde Russian b*tch are at  
  
the healm. They have a lot of power."  
  
"Jus...these people sound dangerous." She answered angrily.  
  
"They're powerful, too, Ana." He fired back desperately.  
  
"They can get me the answers I've been after ever since  
  
that awful night."  
  
"I just don't want you to be wiped off the face of this  
  
earth like that poor girl was. You are in way over your  
  
head Big Brother," she warned.  
  
"I think I was in way over my head with Lilly." He answered  
  
softly.  
  
"Remember when we were kids? I think when they hire faculty  
  
for the school, they ask for teachers, a principal, a vice  
  
principal and a bully. Anyway...it was your last year in  
  
grammar school and it was my second year, and you found out  
  
somehow that a bunch of bullies were stealing my lunch  
  
money. You went to confront them, but got into a brawl."  
  
Her features became drawn... "They broke your nose, and  
  
fractured your wrist...if the teacher didn't break it up, I  
  
think you would've had a broken neck. You've always done  
  
stuff like that. I'm just wondering when the teacher won't  
  
come out to save your ass."  
  
"I'll turn the porch light off on my way out." Justin  
  
growled and stormed out the door. Ana hoped that he wasn't  
  
going to get bitten by the sharks.  
  
Out of her giant bay window, Ana watched Justin storm off  
  
the porch and down the sidewalk towards his car in a huff.  
  
She heard a buzzing noise in the background...  
  
"Mom," Peter said, rolling his eyes in typical pre-teen  
  
fashion. "MOOOOOOOOOOM... hell-LO, earth to Mom."  
  
Startled out of her reverie, Ana turned to her boy. "What?"  
  
she said, a little more tired than she meant to be.  
  
Sometimes, Justin just drained the life out of her.  
  
"Phone," Peter said. As Ana walked back to the kitchen,  
  
Peter tailed her. "Hey, Mom, can I go to Mike's house  
  
tonight?"  
  
"Clean your room first," Ana said automatically which sent  
  
her son grumbling upstairs. She picked the phone up.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Mrs. Sedai?" A swarmy male voice asked.  
  
"Yes?" Oh no, a telemarketer she groaned inwardly.  
  
"You have five minutes to get out of the house." Dial tone.  
  
Ana raced out of the kitchen and to the foot of the stairs.  
  
"Pete! Peter, come down here, now!"  
  
Peter, alarmed by the panicky tone of her voice, actually  
  
came down immediately. "Wha-" he started to say but his  
  
mother grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the  
  
door...  
  
Justin Leo was four blocks away from his half-sister's  
  
house when he saw the explosion in the rearview mirror.  
  
Cutting off a Suburu while doing an illegal U-turn, he  
  
floored it back to Ana's house...  
  
The wailing of fire trucks were in the distance. Startled  
  
neighbors were standing in their doorframes stunned. A few  
  
had come to their senses and were coming out to assist the  
  
figures laying in the middle of the road.  
  
Leo squealled his tires to a halt and ran to Ana, who was  
  
sitting up, holding a weeping Peter. "Peter, Peter, buddy,"  
  
Leo grabbed the boy's face and kissed his forehead soundly.  
  
"Are you hurt?"  
  
The boy shook his head but pointed to the hole in the  
  
ground where his house used to. "Smokey was in the house,"  
  
he sobbed, referring to his beloved dog.  
  
As the ambulances pulled up to assist a shaken Ana and her  
  
devastated son, Leo's cell phone began to ring. He answered  
  
as the paramedics lifted Ana onto a stretcher. "What?"  
  
"Consider that a warning, Leo," Marita Covarrubias hissed.  
  
"I told you to get your ass to the safe house." She hung up  
  
the phone with a vengence.  
  
That little punk she seethed, better get his  
  
priorities in line. He worked for HER, not CSM, not the  
  
Admiral. He worked for her and he screwed up royally. She  
  
was glad she had the foresight to put listening devises in  
  
Ana's house years ago when Leo came to work for her. She  
  
figured it would keep him honest. Now he just about blew  
  
the entire mission to her. So, Marita reasoned, she blew up  
  
the house.  
  
Next time he screwed up, she'd make sure she'd kill more  
  
that just a dog.  
  
"You two are staying with me tonight. Peter, on the week-  
  
end, we'll go to the pet store and get you another dog,  
  
alright?"  
  
"I don't want another dog." Peter mumbled, horrified of the  
  
thought that Smokey was as replacible as his clothes.  
  
"Peter, don't talk that way to your Uncle." Ana scolded,  
  
then turned her wrath on Leo, who had just finished talking  
  
with the police. "Justin, what if the--those people--the  
  
ones who burnt down my house come after you?" She seethed.  
  
"Justin, whatever the hell it is you've gotten into, I want  
  
you out! I don't give a damn what you do to yourself  
  
anymore, but I will NOT let you destroy my son!"  
  
"How come you can yell at him but I can't?" Peter whined,  
  
but wished he could take it back as soon as he saw the  
  
damning glare his mother flashed him. The defensive,  
  
recoiled look in Leo's eyes made Ana realize the harshness  
  
of her words.  
  
"Oh, Jus...I didn't mean it like that--" she immediately  
  
apologized.  
  
"It's ok...and you're right." He said, sighing heavily.  
  
"The people after me may hit again. I should have thought  
  
of that. I'll put you and Pete in a hotel tonight until I  
  
figure out how to stop these people."  
  
"Justin...I have lost my house." She said pointedly. "I  
  
think I deserve to know what the hell is going on."  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
In Coffee is My Friend 24 hr Coffee shop  
  
********************************************  
  
"Ana..." Justin began, fiddling with the cigarette holder  
  
in his breast pocket. Ben tried to use the lighter as a  
  
weapon in the struggle a couple of nights ago, and with  
  
possible traces of skin and fingernail on it, there was no  
  
way he was going to let it be found in the car. Not wanting  
  
to look at her, he simply replied, "I can't."  
  
"Jus," Ana countered, "we were almost blown up tonight.  
  
Everything I own is GONE...you HAVE to tell me."  
  
"If I tell you, they'll kill all of us."  
  
"Who's *they*?" She demanded  
  
"Them." Leo answered flatly. "I seriously don't know who  
  
THEY are beyond a group of people I work for." Then eager  
  
to end the conversation, he steered the topic, "Come on,  
  
you need to find a place to stay. The sooner we get you  
  
guys outta here, the safer you are."  
  
"You mean the safer *you* are." She hissed. "Justin exactly  
  
what have you gotten yourself into?"  
  
"Deep shit." was all Leo could answer.  
  
"Apparently." Ana snorted. "I can't handle this Justin,"  
  
she said with a frustrated sigh, "I love you, but if you  
  
don't stop dealing with this group, I'm going to have to  
  
put a restraining order on you."  
  
"I don't blame you, Ana. Look...I'm sorry for all the  
  
trouble I caused."  
  
"When all is said and done, do you think it will really  
  
help you find Lily?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Yes...they promised me that...but if that means you shut  
  
me out then..." Leo couldn't finish.  
  
"Are these people good at keeping promises?"  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"Then you should get out. Get away from them. Get a fresh  
  
start."  
  
"I don't think I can."  
  
***********************************************************  
  
"Marita, you should have been more careful." The Admiral  
  
reprimanded. "Blowing up a house like that only makes us  
  
high profile. The police will want to know what's going  
  
on."  
  
"I made sure that there's nothing left to investigate. No  
  
arsen charges will be made tonight. Look, old man," she  
  
seethed, "I had to make sure that cocky little shit knew  
  
who was in charge."  
  
"Are you in charge, my dear?" The Admiral demanded.  
  
"If the human race can keep the illusion that we're in  
  
control of this planet just a little bit longer, and if  
  
that means keeping Spender and Leo in check, then yes...I'm  
  
in charge."  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
"The same way anyone is sure of anything." She said with a  
  
sly smile. "By not thinking too hard about it."  
  
The news was all over the explosion in the quiet suburbian  
  
neighborhood. The Lone Gunmen, still so stunned by their  
  
recent discovery of the link between Mulder and  
  
Starkweather however, probably would have paid no mind to  
  
the horrifying event if Langly hadn't looked up at the TV  
  
and said "Crap."  
  
"What?" Frohike adjusted his glasses, smudged with  
  
fingerprint dust. The boys were trying to deduce who the  
  
benefactor of their package was.  
  
"You guys missed it," Langly said. "A house blew up for no  
  
reason in the 'burbs and guess who was in the  
  
neighborhood?"  
  
"Tom Hanks?"  
  
"No... and Byers what kind of stupid, lame-ass answer is  
  
'Tom Hanks'?"  
  
"Well... he did make that terrible comedy called "The  
  
'Burbs", naturally this was all pre- 'Sleepless in  
  
Seattle', 'Philadelphia', 'Forest Gump' and let's see... oh  
  
yes! 'You've Got Mail' and 'Saving Private Ryan' and  
  
'Castawa-"  
  
"Hey, Leonard Maltin!" Frohike snapped. "Get to the point."  
  
"Well, I was merely making an attempt at humor since the  
  
atmosphere has been quite dark ever since we made the  
  
discovery that Mulder and Mrs. Starkweather share more that  
  
just the supreme talent of getting under everyone's skin."  
  
"You're just pissed because she made you crap your pants  
  
when she stuck that gun in your face, Virgin Monkey Boy."  
  
"STOP CALLING ME THAT!!!"  
  
"Dudes!" Langly broke in. "Mulder's lawyer was in the  
  
neighborhood."  
  
Frohike shrugged. "So?"  
  
"Well..." Langly babbled. "Doesn't that strike you as kinda  
  
weird?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
Langly paused. "I dunno," he admitted.  
  
"Langly," Frohike spluttered, absolutely frustrated. "I  
  
think the peroxide is soaking into your brain. And I can't  
  
find one damn print on this box."  
  
"What about the vials?"  
  
"Worthless. We handled them too much."  
  
"Wait a minute..." Byers said quietly, going to the  
  
computer.  
  
"What?" Langly asked.  
  
"Langly, you may have for once in you life, been observant  
  
about something."  
  
"So the LSD didn't kill off ALL of his braincells? That's a  
  
relief," Frohike grumbled.  
  
"Well... call me insane-"  
  
"Insane," Langly and Frohike droned at the same time.  
  
"But personally, I think it would be odd that a prominent  
  
lawyer would be at the site of an explosion but not  
  
necessarily damning..."  
  
"So... how was I observant?" Langly demanded.  
  
"Well, when you pointed out Mr. Leo to us on the TV, that  
  
reminded me that I had asked one of our associates to get  
  
documented history on Mr. Leo, because... again... another  
  
coincidence... when I spoke to Mulder on the phone-"  
  
"When did you get to talk to Mulder?" Frohike pouted.  
  
Byers ignored him "-he mentioned his defense attorney was  
  
from Carters, Spangle and Adams... which was the law firm  
  
Mr. Starkweather worked for..." Byers opened his email and  
  
saw a message from Jimmy Bond with a ZIP attachment.  
  
"Now... does that strike you as odd?" he queried as he  
  
opened the email and waited for the ZIP file to download.  
  
"No." Langly said. Frohike stood on his tiptoes and slapped  
  
him upside the head. "Ow!!!"  
  
"Why would a lawyer from the firm Ben was working at send a  
  
lawyer to defend Mulder?"  
  
"Cause lawyers are dogs?"  
  
Frohike hit him again.  
  
"Stop that!"  
  
"Well," Byers said mildly. "Not all, but THIS lawyer is a  
  
dog, like I suspected."  
  
"Wha'cha got?" Frohike leaned in closer.  
  
"HR records from CS and A. Mr. Leo was terminated from the  
  
firm as of May 13, 2002. And this... if Jimmy did his  
  
job..." Byers double-clicked his mouse. "Ah ha..."  
  
Langly and Frohike looked at the jibber-jabber on the  
  
scene. "What the hell is that?"  
  
"Data retrieved from Washington DC Workforce Development.  
  
Mr. Leo is a lawyer on unemployment." Byers clicked on the  
  
next file. "His bank statement Yves hacked from Wells Fargo  
  
site. Virtually empty."  
  
"So what the hell is going on?" Frohike said. "If he's  
  
getting a payoff, where is it? And what made you so  
  
suspious of Leo in the first place?"  
  
"Mulder said that Leo is doing this case pro-bono."  
  
"AHhhhhhhhhh," Langly and Frohike said.  
  
"And, well, when Mulder said that... I had to do a little  
  
digging. Find out what kind of character that this Mr.  
  
Justin Leo is. And I find this..." Byers shook his head.  
  
"But when we got that package... I completely forgot all  
  
about Leo and the case."  
  
"Me too," Langly admitted.  
  
Frohike closed his eyes. "Guys... we've been had."  
  
Byers and Langly exchanged confused looks. "I don't  
  
follow," Byers said slowly.  
  
"This," Frohike held up the note from the package. "'The  
  
answers are in here?' Bullshit. We were sent this to keep  
  
us busy. To throw us off the trail..."  
  
"Because the answers in there..." Langly said, putting the  
  
pieces together. "would distract us from what we were  
  
working with Mulder and Dog-breath in the first place...  
  
The fucking oil rig!" he cried as he raced to his computer  
  
and started to type frantically on his computer. Then, his  
  
body slumped in his sit, head lolling back in defeat.  
  
"We're too late. There's massive firewalls built around the  
  
Galpex site. They even found the rabbit-holes we created  
  
and filled them. It's going to take time to get back in  
  
there."  
  
"Time we ain't got." Frohike ran his fingers through what  
  
was left of his hair. "F*ck," he muttered inaudibly.  
  
"I hear ya, brother," Langly groaned, pulled on his own  
  
hair in frustration. "Why were we so stupid????"  
  
Byers scratched his beard. "We're not stupid." He said in  
  
his quiet voice. "We were distracted by the red herring.  
  
But we are not stupid." Byers began to type. "Mrs.  
  
Starkweather was working on a connection between the oil  
  
rig and the Air Force base where the downed planes came  
  
from and I think it's safe to say that the USAF and the FBI  
  
have not strengthened their firewalls as Galpex has."  
  
Frohike and Langly raised their head. "Well, Hippie,"  
  
Frohike said. "Make some coffee...." 


	8. Going to a Party in the County Jail

Meanwhile....  
  
Back in Jail...  
  
Do not cross Go  
  
Do not collect $200...  
  
um.... sorry... anyways....  
  
Manny was sound asleep, snoring loudly as drool dribbled  
  
down his face. Mulder paid him no mind. Under the guise of  
  
reading a book, Mulder was trying to quietly finish piecing  
  
together what Starkweather had started.  
  
But first he had to get inside her head. Oh God... he  
  
moaned to himself, little realizing that Starkweather had  
  
the same reaction when she had decided to profile him.  
  
"Alright, Jerilyn," Mulder closed his eyes remembering  
  
their first encounter. He had by surprised at her small  
  
frame and baby face. She was a woman creeping towards  
  
middle-age with extreme defiance. Nature had been very kind  
  
to her, and Mulder remembered she was damn well how kind  
  
Nature was to her and used Nature's kindness to her  
  
advantage, lulling people into a sense of security... until  
  
they pissed her off and she opened her mouth.  
  
Judging by their few and far inbetween meetings, for  
  
Starkweather did not hide the fact she was not overtly fond  
  
of him and so did not make a point to talk to him, unless  
  
she absolutely had to, Mulder knew for a fact she rarely  
  
backed down from confrontation. Plus she was not afraid of  
  
using force, at all, Mulder recalled, ruefull rubbing his  
  
neck where she tried to choke him. B*tch he couldn't  
  
help thinking. But her violent outbust only proved what  
  
Mulder had thought from the beginning, if someone could  
  
look beyond the childishly sweet face and into her eyes and  
  
ignore the cutting tongue, they would see the passionate  
  
and loyal heart that drove Starkweather into doing what she  
  
believed was right. Coupled with her feral intelligence  
  
that could took swipes at people's foolishness and  
  
corruption fearlessly, someday she would be a force to  
  
reckon with. But not until she learned to curb her  
  
naturally salty tongue. Her mouth and her attitude was  
  
going to get her in trouble time and time again until she  
  
grew up. In fact, Mulder's ears still rang with the snarls  
  
of his first fight with her, when she had busted him and  
  
the Lone Gunmen for trying "To break into my home, to  
  
tamper with my phones, to add surveillance cameras to  
  
monitor my movements for my protection? That a little Air  
  
Force medic retiree and current FBI agent, who survived  
  
Basic training, medical training, FBI training and a  
  
Slipknot concert is so inept at self-defense that a  
  
illegally placed surveillance equipment is going to be  
  
adequate protection?"  
  
"I don't doubt your abilities to take care of yourself,  
  
Jerilyn," Mulder said patiently. "You're a very capable,  
  
competent woman-"  
  
"Gee, can you be any more patronizing?"  
  
"Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather, do you have an open mind?"  
  
"It's fairly open, but not so much that my brains fall  
  
out."  
  
"Jerilyn, you need to listen to me now, your life is in  
  
danger."  
  
"I'm a federal agent. My life is in danger everyday due to  
  
my choice"  
  
"I'm a federal agent. My life is in danger everyday due  
  
to my choice."  
  
And that was the stumbling block, Mulder reasoned, keeping  
  
Starkweather from achieving healthy self-actualization.  
  
**I'm.** **My life** **My choice** Her pride and her  
  
arrogence and fear of loss, fear of being alone. Never a  
  
**we** heard anywhere.  
  
Mulder smiled and shook his head. Like looking in a  
  
mirror he sighed to himself.  
  
Pushing his own issues aside, he delved deeper into  
  
Starkweather's psyche. As of right now, she believes her  
  
husband is dead and her dedication to duty and honor is  
  
probably fueling the fire of guilt that's burning her up.  
  
She believes that she should have stopped Ben from his  
  
fool's errand and now that he's gone, she owes it to him to  
  
find the truth.  
  
Why does that sound familiar? he wondered before his  
  
profiling went on...  
  
So where would she go for answers? Well... she probably  
  
checked HIM inside and out. If she was as good as people  
  
were saying, Mulder thought smugly, then her profile is not  
  
going to match the true "murder" suspects, which will raise  
  
the hairs on the back of her neck. So now she's dealing  
  
with whether to believe or not believe, to be or not to be,  
  
the eternal question. Unable to handle emotions, she  
  
probably hides away to cry, only to come out feeling worse,  
  
but in extreme denial and harboring much guilt, she will  
  
try to shove those feelings even deeper down, trying to be  
  
professional...  
  
Until a gesture of sadness or kindness makes her crack.  
  
Mulder sighed. Or a hologram appearance, that could make  
  
her crumble.  
  
So... Mulder backed up. While she was in professional  
  
mode, she probably went back to square one. That damn oil  
  
rig. There was a reason why Ben was ordered to prosecute it  
  
and why he was silenced for it. Mulder wondered how far  
  
back in the oil rig case did she go? Did she explore the  
  
history of the vicious Black Oil known as Purity?  
  
She would have... Mulder believed... or at least... I would  
  
have...  
  
He scoured his memory for the conversation he and Scully  
  
had after her mission to Scotland, with Doggett and  
  
Starkweather in tow. Incidently, it was Starkweather's  
  
first X-File.  
  
The Lone Gunman had just brought him to Scully's after his  
  
futile attempt to make the Hurricane understand how much  
  
danger she really was in. He was retchedly ill, literally.  
  
Before Scully brought him to bed, he threw up her favorite  
  
shoes.  
  
After she took his temperature and listened to him whine  
  
about how he felt like such a loser, a puppet, a sell-out,  
  
thoughts planted by the benevolent Starkweather herself.  
  
Scully had basically told him to stop whining because she  
  
was there and together, they had battled worse odds. To  
  
change the subject, Mulder had asked her about the trip.  
  
"A complete diaster," she had said, once again mopping his  
  
hot brow with the soft, cool, damp cloth. "We lost our only  
  
witness and the legal evidence was confiscated by the  
  
United States Army. It's under lock and key, we can't touch  
  
it. The case is dead in the water."  
  
"Legal evidence?" Mulder had rasped, striken with  
  
bronchitis. He remember how much it hurt to breath, how  
  
much effort it took to even keep his eyes open, but he  
  
wanted to listen. He wanted to stay awake. "Are you  
  
implying that there's not-so-legal evidence?"  
  
"Starkweather killed a bounty hunter. She doesn't believe  
  
that it was alien, of course, but... anyway... samples of  
  
the blood was collected to be sent to Quantico, but Doggett  
  
took one of the samples."  
  
"Doggett?" Mulder had hardly been able to contain his  
  
mirth, despite how bad he felt. "Puppy-Man?"  
  
"Stop it Mulder," Scully gestured Mulder to sit up, which  
  
he did. Scully slid behind him and he rested his head on  
  
her, closing his eyes as she continued to bathe his face,  
  
throat and chest with the cooling water. "And when we  
  
examined the downed aircraft, Starkweather noticed an  
  
abnormality with the c*ckpit shield... she said the glass  
  
looked to be heated enough to liquidify, then cooled down  
  
and solidify again. Starkweather helped herself to a piece  
  
of glass." Mulder had chuckled. "Mulder, it's not funny.  
  
They violated a crime scene, they disturbed evidence..."  
  
"Scully, Scully, Scully, how often has our work been  
  
sabotaged? I think Starkweather and Doggett are engaging in  
  
a little CYA if you ask me." Mulder had sighed in  
  
exhaustion and relief when he felt Scully's cool fingers  
  
rub his temples. "But you still have no idea why this plane  
  
went down?"  
  
"I can't think of any. Starkweather was muttering she might  
  
have a hunch, but before she said anything, she passed out  
  
and Doggett took her home." Mulder had startled at that,  
  
tried to sit up, but Scully had pushed him gently back down  
  
against her again. "Remember how I told you that van the  
  
bounty hunters were driving were hurtling towards her? She  
  
threw herself across the hood of another car to avoid being  
  
mowed down by the runaway truck. Also an Army lietenant  
  
hurt her arm pretty badly. Come to think of it... she also  
  
hit her head pretty hard when we had to make that emergency  
  
landing in Rome... I'm surprised she held up this long."  
  
"But you don't remember what her hunch was?"  
  
"Mulder, don't press. It's not good for you, it's not good  
  
for me. You're sick and I'm tired." She had stroked his  
  
hair and used the same soothing voice that she did with  
  
little Will when he was fussing. "Mulder, just let it go...  
  
it'll be fine, just rest, just close your eyes and let it  
  
go..."  
  
And Mulder had let go and fallen into fitful sickly sleep  
  
until the LGM returned from the errand to the drugstore  
  
like Scully asked him. She had roused him enough to take a  
  
heavy duty antiboditic and an even heavier  
  
antidecongestant. Then he truly let go and slept like the  
  
dead.  
  
Now, trapped in a cell which seemed to grow smaller and  
  
smaller every hour, Mulder was reaching for the thread that  
  
Scully told him to let go. The oil rig, the oil rig... Al  
  
said Starkweather was working on a connection between the  
  
rig and the crash in Scotland. They were intertwined and  
  
the reason for this whole nightmare.... Mulder's teeth  
  
clenched together. He longed for a sunflower seed.  
  
Stretching, he rotated his head left to right, hoping to  
  
pop his stiff neck. As he did this, he happen to look at  
  
Manny, still sleeping, still snoring.  
  
And the answer hit him like a Mack Truck.  
  
"Oh my God..." Mulder said aloud.  
  
He had the answer. He just hoped there was physical  
  
proof... he hoped it could be found before good ol' Billy  
  
Boy paid him a visit.  
  
"Oh my God..." Mulder said aloud. "What if the plane was  
  
SUPPOSED to crash???"  
  
Manny snorted in his sleep and rolled over, continuing to  
  
snore.  
  
Mulder began to pace. It made sense, it made perfect  
  
sense... according to what little Scully told him about the  
  
case in Scotland before she left with Doggett and  
  
Starkweather... several other military planes had taken off  
  
for routine missions and crash-landed way off course days  
  
later. According to Starkweather, several airbases had  
  
fueling contracts with the oil company. If Mulder was  
  
right... if the oil company was just a cleverly simple  
  
fascade for their real mission, to secretly import Purity  
  
into other countries...  
  
Mulder continued to pace. But wasn't the Black Oil  
  
transmitted by bees? He knew it was, Scully had nearly died  
  
from a bee from that weird farm in Texas. But the Black Oil  
  
was also transmitted just by touching it. Plus... God only  
  
knew how many other places there could be in the world that  
  
was genetically engineering killer-bees...  
  
Mulder went to the bars and grabbed the bars in  
  
desperation, wishing he had the strength of Billy Miles. If  
  
Ben would have been successful with bringing the case to  
  
trial, everything would have come out. Including the race  
  
of indigents that were immune to the Black Oil... which,  
  
Mulder realized frantically, is what the Syndicate was  
  
hiding... or rather the New Syndicate. Even though he knew  
  
that most of the "Old Guard" had been killed, he had the  
  
sneaking suspicion that someone was waiting in the wings  
  
for just such an event so he... or she could grab the  
  
reins.  
  
And if the New Syndicate was anything like the Old  
  
Syndicate... pretending to help the alien nation while  
  
trying to undermine their efforts... they would NOT want it  
  
to become public knowledge that some humans were immune...  
  
humans like the two brave souls who perished on the oil rig  
  
trying to stop their evil work... humans like himself and  
  
Scully... possibly Starkweather... but definitely...  
  
"William..." he breathed. "Oh no..."  
  
If Starkweather didn't wake up, if he didn't get out of  
  
this cell... the hell with the rest of the world, who was  
  
going to protect Scully and Will?  
  
"D-d-doggett..." Starkweather stammered "I think I should  
  
lay off the J.D.'s."  
  
"Starkweather?" Sam asked with an expression of forged  
  
confusion plastered on his face. After fifteen years of  
  
leaping, he had acquired acting skills. In a flash, he  
  
pulled the gun out of the shoulderholster and had it poised  
  
toward the gun.  
  
"Please..." she stammered, "tell me you see a man in a God-  
  
awful suit in this room? Because if you don't, Clarence is  
  
back...and you should check the yellow pages for nutfarms."  
  
"Awful?! What the hell do you mean awful?!" Al objected.  
  
"This material is top-quality 100 % silk! He can't see me.  
  
You're the only one who can see me honey." Al fibbed.  
  
"I think I'm going fucking insane..." She closed her eyes.  
  
"He's not real, in a minute, I'll wake up and this will all  
  
go away...he's just a figment of my imagination..."  
  
Mumbling, she walked over to the liquor cabinet, and poured  
  
every drop of liquor that existed.  
  
"Who's there?" Sam immediately recoiled, poising his gun  
  
for show.  
  
Sam and Al, meanwhile, took the opportunity while her back  
  
was turned to them to relay a message  
  
*Mulder* Al exageratedly mouthed and pointed at his watch  
  
then pointed at Doggett's gun and then emphatically pointed  
  
at his head  
  
"Callivici," she swung around, and immediately Al and Sam  
  
both stiffened up, "Why'd you come back?"  
  
"Ummmmm...St. Peter wanted me to tell you that unless you  
  
stop cryin' me a river, Mulder's going to be killed in  
  
prison within..." he held up Ziggy and punched in data,  
  
"twenty four hours."  
  
"Glad to see Heaven's gotten an upgrade." Starkweather  
  
purred.  
  
"Why do you think we couldn't affoard the cleaning bill?"  
  
Al retorted.  
  
"Oh, I see. You cant affoard a cleaning bill but you can  
  
affoard technology that doesn't exist yet. It's a God damn  
  
miracle."  
  
"That's what Angel's do, isn't it?"  
  
"I can't believe I'm arguing with a figment of my  
  
imagination. God...I must be insane."  
  
"I'm not God, I'm--" Al protested.  
  
"Shut up!" Starkweather barked.  
  
It was hard for Sam not to hide his urgency. Aside from  
  
finding this situation slightly amusing, he desperately  
  
needed whatever information Al had to give him. So, he  
  
continued to play along. "Starkweather? Who are you talking  
  
to?"  
  
"Calivici...my gaurdian angel...with a pretty blinking  
  
calculator..." she said quizzically.  
  
Just then, Starkweather's cell phone rang. Scully's voice  
  
was urgent on the other end.  
  
"Starkweather, turn on the local news. There's something  
  
you should see.  
  
Sam gave her a questionning glance that was unanswered.  
  
Starkweather turned her television on from cable to local  
  
television.  
  
"A Gap commercial?"  
  
"No no no...it just went off the air...Mulder's lawyer is  
  
connected to an unexplained explosion.  
  
Al and Sam were both starring wide eyed at the next  
  
newsclip from the Spangle, Adams and Carter lawfirm.  
  
"Jiminy Christmas!" Starkweather murmuring at the sight of  
  
the man on the screen. "Look at that..." eyeing the  
  
cigarette holder..."looks a helluva lot like the cigarette  
  
holder I gave...he knows...holy F*ck! I think that man  
  
killed Ben...if he didn't kill Ben," she finished quietly,  
  
"...then he at least knows who did..."  
  
Starkweather faced the television set, nibbling her  
  
thumbnail, oblivious to Sam or Al. "Unless, he's in on it  
  
with Mulder, he is his lawyer, but... no if he was in with  
  
Mulder, he would have gotten him off on bail, if Leo was in  
  
on it with Mulder, there is no logical reason why Mulder  
  
would still be sitting in that jail cell..." she bit her  
  
lip. "Unless he's being set up..." she muttered to herself  
  
as the commericals droned on and on, a McDonald's spot,  
  
then a local spot for a furniture company, then the news  
  
was back on. The way-too-happy anchor woman re-informed  
  
Washington DC and the surrounding areas of the unexplained  
  
house explosion in a nearby suburb of DC. As the already  
  
over-played footage re-aired, the woman's voiceover  
  
announced how the fire marshall suspected foul play, but  
  
has not yet been determined. The picture flashed back to  
  
the family, a woman, cut, scraped and mildly burned  
  
hovering over her fear-striken son while a man, Justin Leo,  
  
tried to comfort them both.  
  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she whispered to herself, still  
  
thinking.  
  
"Starkweather?" Sam asked.  
  
"Hang on a sec," she said, dashing off into the bedroom.  
  
Sam was about to follow, but Al already vanished, centering  
  
on her. Sam heard a loud "CAN'T A GIRL GET SOME FUCKING  
  
PRIVACY YOU PERVERTED LITTLE HALUCINATION??" Al  
  
returned to Sam quickly, very red-faced, a rarity.  
  
"She's changing," he mumbled, punching at his little com-  
  
link to cover his massive embarrassment.  
  
"What's going on?" Sam hissed insistantly. "Does anything  
  
change?"  
  
Al began punching at his com-link for real now. "Mulder  
  
still croaks tomorrow night at straight up five o'clock  
  
Eastern time-"  
  
Just then, Caesar the Fat Orange Cat rounded the corner.  
  
His tail puffed up three times it's normal size, hissed at  
  
Sam, glared at Al. He lowered himself to ground, just like  
  
his bigger and wilder relations in Africa, waggling his  
  
rump, tensing his legs, preparing for the attack. Suddenly  
  
he lunged himself off the floor, hurtling himself towards  
  
Al, claws extended. Al, by now, used to animals freaking  
  
out on him, put his hands behind his back and waited  
  
patiently. The cat sailed right through him. Confused,  
  
Caesar flailed his paws wildly as he tried to control his  
  
landing. He belly-flopped onto the polished oak coffee  
  
table, sliding across it, knocking magazines and coffee  
  
cups off and falling into an undignified orange heap on the  
  
floor. Tucking his tail between his legs, Caesar slunk off  
  
to nurse his wounded pride in peace. "HA!!!" he barked at  
  
the retreating cat. "That makes up for every damn cat Ex-  
  
Wife Number... Four... Five... whatever... brought home to  
  
destory my house."  
  
"Al!" Sam snapped, although he had been privately amused by  
  
the entire scenario.  
  
"Oh oh oh right..." Al got back to work. "Oh... no...  
  
Sammmmmm.... Starkweather gets killed **tonight** now."  
  
"WHAT?!?!?!" Sam felt his heart and head spin. "How???  
  
Why?"  
  
Just then, Starkweather came back, in baggy khakis cargo  
  
pants cinched tighly at her waist with a thick black belt,  
  
a chest-hugging tight black t-shirt while wearing one of  
  
Ben's dark grey dress shirts over it, shiny black boots Sam  
  
correctly guessed where from her days in the Air Force. Her  
  
hair was pulled tightly back in a harsh French braid. Over  
  
her head, she had tied on a black hankerchief, pulling her  
  
bangs back so anyone could clearly see the ugly scar she  
  
earned when her flight to London was crash landing in Rome.  
  
The tail of her braid swished back and forth as she walked  
  
out. She wore dark black sunglasses. Her mouth was pulled  
  
down what seemed to be a permanent frown. She looked evil.  
  
But what scared Sam more was the gun she was loading.  
  
"Starkweather, what are you doing?"  
  
She smiled coldly at Sam, the smile worse than the frown.  
  
"I'm gonna go have a chat with Mr. Leo," she said wickedly.  
  
"Don't know if you wanna come with Doggett. The game just  
  
got dirty and your suit is still sparkly clean."  
  
Sam looked down at Doggett's neatly pressed black suit,  
  
starched white shirt and grey and red and violet striped  
  
tie. With a sigh, Sam took his gun out, checked it, took it  
  
off of safety and put it back in his holster. "My suit's  
  
washable," Sam said.  
  
Starkweather stuck the gun in the back of her waistband,  
  
pulled Ben's shirt over it and grabbed her car keys.  
  
"Oh boy," Sam said, following...  
  
After Scully left the Admiral, she could not shake the  
  
feeling that he was not going to be honest with her. He was  
  
an old family friend, and she believed he truly wanted to  
  
do right, but that other forces were compelling him to do  
  
wrong.  
  
It was her job now to flush the compelling forces out and  
  
uncover the truth. The truth now, she hoped, would set  
  
Mulder free...literally this time.  
  
She needed to go to the county jail and tell Mulder  
  
everything she found. He would want to know he had a sister  
  
again, even if it was someone who had a powerful left hook  
  
that liked to meet his face. She had come to rely on Reyes  
  
in these times when she needed someone to stay with Will  
  
while she persued these questions, and was really not quite  
  
sure how she would repay the favor.  
  
The house phone rang just then, interrupting her train of  
  
thought which was in the middle of trying to determine the  
  
best next step in this investigation.  
  
"Dr. Scully, my name is J. Stephen Cello III." a young man  
  
began, "You don't know me, but one of my late colleauges  
  
worked with one of your colleagues."  
  
"What's this all about?" Scully was slightly irritated with  
  
a man automatically introduced himself as someone whose  
  
name sounded like the closing of Seseme Street this seseme  
  
street was brought to you by the letter J and the number  
  
3.  
  
"Mr. Starkweather was my colleague." He answered sadly. "I  
  
was going over the police reports here in front of me on  
  
behalf of our lawfirm and your name came up. I think some  
  
things need to be brought to your attention."  
  
Scully got off the phone completely outraged. Mulder was  
  
being set up by the young lawyer, and she was sure it had  
  
something to do with the oil-rig. Now all she had to do was  
  
find the connection. She picked up the phone again.  
  
"Byers. It's Scully. Listen, I need you guys to do me a  
  
favor as fast as you can. Can you get me the phone records  
  
for Justin Leo and fax them for me? Thanks, I appreciate  
  
it."  
  
She was slightly puzzled when the records pulled up on her  
  
fax machine immediately.  
  
Al, taking a puff of his cigar, stood in the shadows. When  
  
he realized she didn't see the smoke, he stepped into the  
  
light.  
  
"Mulder..." she mumbled to herself, a thin smile gracing  
  
her lips, "you are one paranoid piece of work..."  
  
"Ain't he though?" Al said, grinning over her shoulder.  
  
Her brow crinkled in confusion when she saw one number from  
  
Sasha Krycek at PO Box 37 Cherry Lane Apts.  
  
She was interrupted on her way out again by yet another  
  
phone call. This time it was her cell, so she wasn't  
  
completely stopped.  
  
"Scully," Skinner began, "what have you found so far? I  
  
tried to get a hold of Starkweather, but she's busy at the  
  
moment."  
  
"Sir, I wish I could fill you in, but so am I. I'll get  
  
back to you in a few hours."  
  
Feeling in the way and out of the loop, Skinner sighed and  
  
dialed the number for the mayor.  
  
Scully wound down the streets towards the county jail  
  
apprehensively, and it had nothing to do with the place she  
  
was going. This whole ordeal was completely illogical. Who  
  
gets arrested on pure circumstantial evidence? Why did the  
  
judge set the bail so high? Where did the body come from?  
  
The only question unanswered surrounding the whole mess was  
  
that Ben was opening doors someone intended to keep locked.  
  
Tonight, before The Gunmen, Starkweather, and Doggett came  
  
for Mulder, she knew that she needed to find at least seven  
  
out of ten. If they weren't all going to serve time in  
  
prison, she needed solid proof.  
  
From what she could tell from Ben's colleague, Mulder's  
  
current lawyer was someone definately working with someone  
  
who had connections...but as far as she knew, the most  
  
connected man in Washington was dead.  
  
But, she reminded herself with a heavy sigh, "The phrase  
  
'as far as I know' has a way of not going very far in this  
  
job."  
  
She knew without a doubt that if the break didn't succeed,  
  
Mulder would be moved to a state penetentiary. That wasn't  
  
the worst of the consequences, though. Her mother would  
  
undoubtedly be given full legal custody of William, while  
  
she, Starkweather, Doggett and the 3 Muskateers would be at  
  
the mercy of the court system. The truth that's out there  
  
would be abandoned, ignored, closed completely.  
  
But that wasn't going to happen.  
  
She was going to find the proof they needed. Mulder was  
  
going to help her after rush hour tomorrow, and then  
  
everything would be back to normal. Why do I feel like  
  
I'm in the middle of a Television series that's jumping  
  
the shark?! she wondered.  
  
Scully pulled into the parkinglot and got out the paper she  
  
reached for after the Gunmen called. She scrawled the  
  
message that Starkweather was coming for him at rush hour,  
  
and beneath that some questions she knew Starkweather would  
  
need answers to if the stunt was to be successful. She  
  
folded up as small as possible and tucked it in her skirt.  
  
Because of the late hour, she was escorted into the  
  
visitation room by a gaurd, and while the gaurd went to get  
  
Mulder, she took the opportunity to get the paper out. She  
  
fervently wished that she could have brought Will with her.  
  
She knew Mulder would want to see him, and that maybe he  
  
would give the motivation she knew Mulder would need to  
  
pull this off. But it was past her bedtime. She knew that  
  
Parenting Magazine would not approve of bringing an infant  
  
to a jail at such a late hour.  
  
Scully never doubted Mulder's innocence. Even still, after  
  
all the horrors he'd been subjected to, she knew those  
  
monsters hadn't robbed him of his compassion. The only  
  
doubt that existed in her mind was whether or not they  
  
could prove it. She wasn't ready for this to be their  
  
goodbye. She sighed tentatively as she waited, and resolved  
  
that she wouldn't let that happen.  
  
Mulder was finally escorted into the visitation room.  
  
"You look tired, Scully." He said quietly, and took her  
  
hand through the glass. Scully thought he looked like he  
  
had probably stayed awake the entire time he was in  
  
custody.  
  
"It's been a hellish day. I went to Martha's Vineyard."  
  
"Finally decided to take a vacation there like a normal  
  
person?" He answered dryly. "Wow, Scully. I'm impressed. If  
  
that's what it takes to get you to have a vacation, I  
  
shouldda gotten arrested long ago."  
  
"Yeah, Mulder." She answered. "I went there to have my  
  
yearly rendez-vous with the pizza guy." Scully deadpanned.  
  
"That explains why you look so beat." He answered in his  
  
annoying monnotone with a sly smile. Not skipping a beat,  
  
he took her hand through the gap in the plexiglass at the  
  
bottom, and in the same tone of voice, he asked "How's  
  
Will?"  
  
"A lot like you at this moment." Scully said with a wan  
  
grin of her own. Then slid the paper into the palm of his  
  
hand. And with one glance into his eyes, she made it  
  
understood that this wasn't something to clue the gaurds in  
  
on.  
  
"I haven't passed notes to a girl I liked since grammar  
  
school." He mumbled only loud enough for her to hear. He  
  
cracked a slight smile as he read the contents of the note.  
  
"My apartment until two weeks, Scully...that's where I'm  
  
staying." he said, hoping she'd get the hint.  
  
For a moment, she looked confused, and then her face lit up  
  
in understanding as she realized what he was saying. 42  
  
until...minus...two weeks...fourteen days...42 minus  
  
14...28.  
  
"Scully, the way I see it, we've got proof already. I know  
  
what Doggett and I saw on that oil rig, and I think the  
  
connection lies in my cell mate."  
  
"Manny?" Scully asked incredulously.  
  
Mulder nodded slowly in response. "They were using people  
  
who wouldn't know any better...and if they did know better,  
  
they'd need the job too badly to quit, and be willing to  
  
take the risk. The people on the oil rig were transporting  
  
alien oil...same as we saw inTungeska...the same oil that  
  
was being used in those planes in that airport in Scotland.  
  
Certain higherups were getting they're palms greased..."  
  
"No pun intended?" Scully interrupted.  
  
"Right..." he continued, "...anyway...the connection is  
  
that oil, and those workers...if we can get proof that  
  
Kersh and whoever else is connected get those stocks the  
  
boys and me found, then I'm home free."  
  
"There's something else I found out today. I found proof  
  
that the Admiral has been dealing with the Syndicate. They  
  
are the ones who adopted Jerilyn through a blackmarket  
  
adoption agency. Leo has been parading as a lawyer for the  
  
past two weeks. He was fired from his firm, and is  
  
connected to a bombing of a home in a residential  
  
neighborhood. Your old lawyer has been calling this one  
  
number quite a bit for a Cherry Lane apartments, and  
  
they've been increasing lately. When I leave here, I'm  
  
finding out who lives at that address."  
  
"Scully.." Mulder began hesitantly, "if this doesn't work  
  
out, and I..."  
  
"Mulder..it'll work..." she said firmly.  
  
***************************  
  
Mulder was lead back to his jail cell, and with Manny  
  
oblivious to the world around him. He wasn't prepared for  
  
the possible scenerios that might unfold tomorrow. He  
  
envied Manny of his oblivion, and wished insomnia hadn't  
  
worked its spell.  
  
"Kid, I'd get some shut-eye if I were you, tomorrow's gonna  
  
be a helluva day." Al growled. He popped in, perched in the  
  
middle of the top bunk. At the unexpected sound, Mulder  
  
jumped out of his skin.  
  
"Al...tomorrow..."  
  
"I know kid, I heard."  
  
"Why is Starkweather coming?"  
  
"Because..." Al began, inhaling a puff of her cigar, "I  
  
think she knows as good as Sam, me, Scully and Doggett that  
  
you didn't do this."  
  
"You get anything from Doggett?" Mulder asked, raking his  
  
hand through his hair.  
  
"Nada. He went psycho on us earlier...the project  
  
psychologist said he kept screaming some cryptic shit about  
  
seeing his son...and some number. Beeks finally hadda..."  
  
"Walk-ins...Star-light..."  
  
"Don't tell me cryptic shit disorder's catchy?"  
  
"Walk-ins are souls trapped in some kinda limbo who try to  
  
help the living. They helped me find Samantha...Luke died  
  
suddenly and before his time. I think thirty-seven's gotta  
  
be tied to this somehow."  
  
"Well if he's trying to tell us something," Al grumbled, "I  
  
wish he'd give us some useful information...like who's  
  
gonna win the world series in 2012."  
  
"Check on Scully, will ya?"  
  
"Mulder, I wish I could...but I need to check in on Sam...I  
  
gotta update him on Puppy Man..."  
  
"Al...go check on her..." Mulder implored simply.  
  
"Mulder, Scully's a strong woman, she can take care of  
  
herself. Sam's at the mercy of Starkweather and the  
  
Gungeeks..."  
  
"They're harmless..." then, running his hand along his  
  
stitches, he decided to change the assessment, "well...she  
  
won't do anything with witnessess..."  
  
"I'm only one guy, kid..." Al began to protest, "I can't be  
  
in two places at once."  
  
"In my line of work...believe me...you can." Mulder  
  
deadpanned.  
  
Letting out a relenting grumble, Al flashed him a dirty  
  
look as he called out to Goushie. "Center me on Scully!"  
  
**Meanwhile...**  
  
Scully left the courthouse, and headed down the bypass on  
  
her way to the address she found for Cherry Lane  
  
apartments. Over and over again, she went through the  
  
evidence they found. Scully never saw the lawyer who was  
  
supposedly representing Mulder. She never knew what he  
  
looked like. Was it safe to assume that the man in the car  
  
getting the vile in the warehouse just the day before had  
  
been Leo? She wished that there was enough time to call  
  
Starkweather to find out what the Admiral told her.  
  
But there wasn't enough time to do two things at once at  
  
this point. She was approaching the neighborhood, and if  
  
the caller was involved at all in these operations, then it  
  
was an easy conclusion to arrive at that the caller would  
  
be on the move, and if that were the case, she needed to  
  
catch the caller out the door.  
  
Undetected, Al appeared instantly on Scully's passenger  
  
seat.  
  
"Where we goin' Scully?" He asked as if she could hear.  
  
She pulled into the apartment complex and counted down the  
  
doors till she came to the right address. He saw two cars,  
  
did a liscence plate check on both. There was one  
  
registered to a Sasha Antzen and to an Ana Sedai.  
  
As Scully made her way up the door Al followed, and as soon  
  
he caught sight of the door number, it hit him...  
  
Scully rang the doorbell to apartment 37C, shouting "Open  
  
up! This is the FBI!"  
  
**Where we last saw Scully, at Cherry Lane Apt.'s 37C**  
  
After repeatedly pounding on the door, she whipped out her  
  
gun and turned the safety off.  
  
Al, bug-eyed and anxiously jingling change in his pocket,  
  
gnawed nervously on his cigar. "Scully, I wouldn't go in  
  
there without back-up if I were you, sweetheart." he warned  
  
unheard, and a relieved smile spread across his face as he  
  
saw her slip the gun in her breast pocket and whip out her  
  
cell-phone lightening-quick. "'Atta girl! Going in there  
  
without back up is more along Spooky's line."  
  
She dialed Skinner's number, and as soon as she heard him  
  
grumble a barely comprehendable hello into the phone,  
  
without waiting for pleasantries, she began spatting  
  
instructions. "Sir, it's Scully. You want to know what's  
  
going on, I'll let you know as soon as you get to 37C  
  
Cherry Lane Apartments in Georgetown. I'm about to make an  
  
arrest, and I need back-up." She hung up, not waiting for a  
  
reply, and whipped her FBI-issued revolver out of her  
  
pocket reflex-quick. With the safety clicked off, she aimed  
  
at the doorknob, and with a bang, the lock shot open.  
  
"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!" she screamed, aiming her gun  
  
at shadows. "THIS IS THE FBI! YOU'RE UNDER ARREST!"  
  
"Who the hell is she?!" Al sputtered, wishing to God that  
  
he could be seen. What the fu--?" He stammered as he saw  
  
something darting between the hall way and the counter.  
  
"Oh, come on, Agent Scully!" Marita purred incredulously,  
  
emerging from the hallway. "You don't have to be so Goddamn  
  
melodramatic." If Scully was surprised to see her in the  
  
dark, modestly furnished living room, she gave no  
  
indication.  
  
Scully and the strange woman and the apartment began to  
  
flicker and fades like lights do when the electricity goes  
  
out. "Goushie! NO!! Keep me up as long as you can't!  
  
Dammit!! I dont' care whatchya gotta do, keep me here!" He  
  
hollared helplessly.  
  
"You are under arrest for conspiring to murder Benjamin  
  
Starkweather and Deputy Mayor Mulder, and interfering with  
  
police investigation."  
  
"I think you've been watching too many cop movies...you're  
  
acting like a fucking action hero" she sneared coolly. As he  
  
heard the two women spitting their fire, Justin Leo decided to  
  
take the opportunity to head for the door.  
  
Scully's attention was averted just then by movement in the  
  
shadows, but she kept her gun trained on her target.  
  
"You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can  
  
and will be used against you in the court of--who's there?  
  
Hey!" Scully demanded as Leo made a run for it towards the  
  
exit. He knew that if he stayed, Lilly would slip through  
  
his fingers like an abstract. Marita saw her opportunity  
  
and took it.  
  
"The cavalry isn't helping you now, sweetie." She sneered  
  
with a swift kick, knocking Scully's gun from her grip.  
  
"You bet your sweet ass they are Lucrezia Borgia." Al  
  
combatted as if Marita could hear. If it was at all  
  
possible, his eyes got even wider like a cartoon character,  
  
as Marita poised Scully's own fire arm at her.  
  
Scully swung at her, and dove for the gun, but Marita was  
  
quicker. Leo had moved from his shadow, and was now  
  
starring shit-faced and wide-eyed at Al.  
  
"He can see me! Holy Shit! He can see me!" Sputtered Al as  
  
he stared just as bewildered and white-faced, and consulted  
  
his hand-link. "Goushie, what the F*CK is going on here?!"  
  
He hollared helplessly into the air.  
  
"It's a gun, Leo, not a ghost." Marita said in his  
  
direction while her intent stare never diverted from  
  
Scully. "Now get out of here and do your job while I do  
  
mine." She snarled. Leo did her biding, and quickly bolted  
  
for the door.  
  
"You, honey," Al began "are a good argument for the people  
  
against the right to bare arms. Guns don't kill people.  
  
Psychochicks with a gun kill people." Al smirked. "Goushie!  
  
He hollared desperately, "try it again, center me on Sam!  
  
Pronto!"  
  
The womens' voices were crackling like radios and cell  
  
phones do when the frequencies are off, and with one last  
  
flicker, Al wasn't connected with the room anymore.  
  
"That's what I get for getting a nutcase to work for me,  
  
isn't it." Marita said with a smirk. "But he *is*  
  
effecient, so I think I'll keep him around."  
  
Scully saw the blue lights flickering in the window from  
  
the street below, and in an almost automatic action, she  
  
lunged at Marita, gripping for her arms first, in attempt  
  
to point upward.  
  
But without even aiming the gun steady, Marita fired when  
  
she saw the blue and red lights get more intense. Skinner  
  
heard the blast from inside, and rushed his crew inside  
  
apartment 37C.  
  
Scully didn't think she heard any kind of gunshot. She felt  
  
rust-warm and sticky substance on her FBI-approved navy  
  
blazer. The only thing she remembered was jerking back. She  
  
was dimly aware of footsteps coming up to the front door.  
  
She was aware that she was falling.  
  
And then she was aware of nothing more.  
  
  
  
*****************************************************  
  
...Meanwhile...Coffee is my Friend 24 hr CoffeeShop  
  
***************************************************  
  
Justin Leo watched his step-sister leave. He understood her  
  
fears, and admonished himself for not sending them away  
  
before she threatened the restraining order. He really  
  
couldn't blame her. But, what could he do? He was too far  
  
in to get out now.  
  
The coffeeshop was near a college, and the owner had the  
  
foresight to install a few modem hook-ups. He booted up,  
  
logged on, and went into the UFO chatrooms, clinging to the  
  
faint hope of helping him find answers, and surfed UFO  
  
newsletters for possible clues. The hope that Marita  
  
Covarubias and her colleagues would help him find Lilly  
  
was slowly dimming.  
  
He whipped out his cellphone at it's abnoxious whirring  
  
beckon.  
  
"Leo." Marita hissed coldly, "you have a chance to redeem  
  
yourself after your last blunder." then calmly, "One last  
  
chance to get her back."  
  
Deciding it best to remain silent, he said nothing, waiting  
  
for her to continue, and nodded as if he could see him.  
  
"We have an emergency on our hands. I need you to drop all  
  
contact with the Deputy Mayor. I need you to get the serum  
  
and send the replicant to his cell tomorrow afternoon. Your  
  
the only one with the information to send the replicant to  
  
the correct location. We'll be so much closer to getting  
  
Lily back...and others..." her voice trailed off.  
  
Without a word, he hung up and logged off, leaving the  
  
coffee shop.  
  
After making sure Ana and Peter were safe, Leo finally went  
  
to the safehouse like he had been ordered to earlier that  
  
day. Marita was waiting for him. "You little bitch," Leo  
  
started to say, but Marita pointed a gun at him.  
  
"You have but one chance to redeem yourself Leo." She  
  
purred, coming closer to him, step by step until the gun  
  
barrel was shoved painfully into his chest. "Agent  
  
Starkweather is a problem we need solved. Now. Tonight."  
  
She turned the gun around and handed it to him. "And don't  
  
even think of turning it on me. It's not loaded. You'll  
  
need to get your own bullets." She handed him the manilla  
  
envelope "Here's a better picture of her. The address is  
  
on the back. I want this done right. Make it look like a  
  
robbery gone wrong." She turned her back on him and left  
  
him alone.  
  
Leo, fuming, ripped open the envelope. He pulled out an  
  
8x10 color glossy print of a photo of Starkweather from a  
  
survelliance shot. She was getting out of a white Dodge  
  
Dynasty that had obviously seen better days, one hand still  
  
on the wheel as she looked off to the right at something.  
  
Her hair was bundled on top of her head in a heavy-looking  
  
bun. She wore a nice black suit and a blue silk blouse,  
  
with a blue and silver scarf knotted at her neck.  
  
Leo dropped the photograph, exhaling. The hair color and  
  
the eye color was wrong, of course but the face...  
  
"**Lily**" he gasped.  
  
7:42 pm  
  
Cherry Lane Apts.  
  
*****************  
  
Marita knew that Justin Leo was not fooling himself. He  
  
worked for her and the rest of the consortium for one  
  
reason, and one reason only: to find someone he lost. He  
  
always held the false illusion that the tasks he performed  
  
were find Lilly--that he was on a quest.  
  
Marita banked upon that mistake and allowed him to keep the  
  
illusion.  
  
After all, as long as he prooved useful to her, what was  
  
the harm in allowing him to think that that poor dumb girl  
  
was still alive? He pined after Lilly, and allowed himself  
  
to believe that he was performing his tasks to find her.  
  
His quest was under false pretenses though; only brave men  
  
go on quests.  
  
She was beginning to discover however, that a Luke  
  
Skywalker costume was hard to fit on Chewbacca.  
  
She knew that Davis Justin Leo possessed absolutely no  
  
balls...and for that quality, she kept him at her heels.  
  
Cowards are easily intimidated and very gullible. She knew  
  
this, and used it to the Ultimate Advantage.  
  
There were still too many things standing in the way of the  
  
Ultimate Advantage. She knew that those things would have  
  
to be illiminated. The first steps were taken already, but  
  
until the Smoking F*cker was out of the picture, she knew  
  
that these steps wouldn't be taken.  
  
Under her careful supervision, the syndicate was finally  
  
gaining a stronger hold, and more paranormal cases were  
  
brought to the FBI's attention. Careful strategizing went  
  
into placing the Starkweathers in the Nation's capital, and  
  
careful strategizing went into expelling Mulder from the  
  
FBI. With the truth revealed about his sister, Marita and  
  
CSM were both delightedly surprised he chose to stay in the  
  
FBI; but admittedly, it was the dumb luck of Vietnam that  
  
landed Mulder at City Hall.  
  
His abduction was not, however, part of the plan; nor was  
  
his death. The syndicated HAD been participating in  
  
abduction conspiracies for years. Lilly and Samantha were  
  
both planned to be taken at different times as part of a  
  
contract made under Spender. The best she and Krycek could  
  
determine when the news reached them was that Mulder's  
  
disappearance had been the work of the alien rebels.  
  
The Ultimate Advantage now was to find out exactly what the  
  
alien rebels were fighting against, and how to negotiate  
  
with both. Marita knew that by controlling Billy Miles she  
  
was getting close to the Ultimate Advantage.  
  
Giving Dana Scully and Fox Mulder the Truth behind Jerilyn  
  
Bailey Starkweather was done because she also knew that if  
  
Agents Scully and Mulder and the rest of the members of the  
  
x-files and their cohorts had a distraction, then it would  
  
take them off their gaurds and allow Mr. Leo to perform his  
  
tasks and her Syndicate time to take control of the  
  
situation.  
  
Ben Starkweather and Justin Leo had one very crucial  
  
commonality: they both lacked any ounce of courage, but  
  
they needed to believe that they strove to do the Right  
  
Thing...and that false belief drove their very Existances.  
  
She knew that this tendency would be the convincing factor  
  
in proving them useful to the Ultimate Advantage.  
  
There was a swift knock at her door. The old man drew a  
  
long puff of his cigarette when Marita opened it.  
  
"You are a fool if you think the Truth is a good  
  
distraction for Agent Scully." He told her. "Against your  
  
advice, Ms. Covarubias, I have set Mr. Miles in motion."  
  
"Then we risk finding what we need to know. They can help  
  
us." She insisted  
  
"It is too late. It has been done."  
  
"Then you are the fool," she hissed. "Because any  
  
stronghold we had is going to be lost now. The lie will be  
  
gone!"  
  
"You should watch yourself, Marita." The old man purred.  
  
"The lie is about to explode. But I wouldn't disappear. You  
  
and your handyman will be usefull in the near future. We  
  
might be lucky. They might crack. We might survive."  
  
"You can only threaten me with *might*...not with *MIGHTS*  
  
you BASTARD!" She exploded, and an with an emphatic BANG  
  
slammed the door in his face, not carring that it was the  
  
most immature reaction she could have to his maddening  
  
words. More importantly, it proved to him that she was  
  
loosing her control...but she had to admit, it was  
  
theraputic.  
  
She ran to the closet where her suitcase gathered dust, and  
  
against his advice, began to pack it.  
  
With Scully's urgent call moments before, Skinner called  
  
reinforcements as quickly as he could, confident in his  
  
agent's ability to keep the situation under control. He had  
  
no doubt in his mind that her ability to do that alone had  
  
saved both the x-files and Mulder's life too many times to  
  
count. If Scully was calling for back-up, he was sure this  
  
whole matter was going to be resolved, and for that he was  
  
relieved. It wouldn't be long now before the x-files could  
  
get as back to normal as the x-files got.  
  
He turned into the neighborhood the apartment complex was  
  
in, and the shrill ring of the cell phone broke his  
  
concentration on the route to the apartment. He wouldn't  
  
have taken the call at a time like this normally, but his  
  
CLD told him that it was from Starkweather's father.  
  
"Look, I don't have a whole lot of time on my hands, so  
  
unless this is urgent, I don't want to hear it." He would  
  
have barked if it hadn't been someone so important.  
  
"A.D. Skin-man" the Admiral slurred, chuckling at himself.  
  
Skinner was not amused. "Skin-man! Damn if um gooohaaana  
  
miss that Mulder guy. I'm tooaaaaaaaaaaaatally PLAHASTERED!  
  
I'm having trouble---hehehehe---getting my Lipttttths to  
  
wohk wissttth mah mouth." He bursted out into fits of  
  
laughter that transformed into sobs.  
  
"Look, Admiral, I dont' have time for this, I'm in a very  
  
tight situation here, so if you don't mind, please walk it-  
  
-"  
  
"Shhhhstshkin-mannnner, I sthing sthish Mahahahrita chickah  
  
issth um gonna send Billy the Kid...Heheheheheeheee! Billy  
  
the KID!! On the DM!" Then he burst into laughter which  
  
evolved again into tears.  
  
"Oh hell." Skinner finally said after a short pause while  
  
the inebriated man's sobs dwindled. "Can you tell me how  
  
you know this?"  
  
"Sttthhhe said she wouulhuhuhuhuhud" He sobbed.  
  
"Admiral? Admi— from the silence on the other end, Skinner  
  
was sure that the man had drowned into oblivion, and was  
  
grateful.  
  
He pulled up to the apartment behind the half-dozen squad  
  
cars, wondering how much of this information Scully already  
  
knew, and wondering who lived in this apartment. Instinct  
  
told him it was someone from the syndicate, or someone who  
  
affiliated themselves with a new ring. Either way, the  
  
suspect was someone who didn't miss their target.  
  
Skinner climbed out of his car as one of the feds  
  
approached him warily. "Sir, we've searched the premises  
  
for the suspect and there was none. A shot was fired, and  
  
we went ahead. Your agent didn't have her service weapon in  
  
her possession when we found her."  
  
"Did you question the landlord?" He was not ready to deal  
  
with the darkest possibilities yet. For now, he needed to  
  
get his job done.  
  
"A woman by the name of Sasha Krycek lived here with her  
  
grandfather according to the landlord." Was the man's quick  
  
reply.  
  
Meanwhile, inside the apartment, once Scully was no longer  
  
a force to be reckoned with, Marita knew that this was the  
  
opportunity to flee. Abandoning her suitcase but arming  
  
herself with the service weapon, she made her way down the  
  
fire escape with the grace and speed of a gazelle.  
  
Scully was first aware of the coppery smell of her own  
  
drying blood. Then a massive headache coupled with the dull  
  
ache in her left side screamed at her nervous system back  
  
into full alertness.  
  
Seconds later brought footsteps up the stairs and a band of  
  
uniformed officers. Realizing with a sigh of relief that  
  
the bullet had only glazed her abdomen. Clutching it when  
  
she saw the officers approach her, she applied pressure on  
  
the table, and managed to struggle to a sitting position.  
  
Skinner soon followed with a concerned and relieved  
  
expression taking over his normally stone-stern features,  
  
he made sure that the EMS had, in fact, been called.  
  
"Scully, I wish you had told me sooner what was going on, I  
  
would have sent back-up long ago and this would have never  
  
happened," he scolded more like a parent than a boss.  
  
"Sir, Marita was here. I tried to arrest her, but she got  
  
the gun away from me and fired my gun and escaped."  
  
Skinner's expression turned from relieved to sh*t-faced.  
  
"God…Scully…I wasn't going to let you bury Mulder again…but  
  
if what the Admiral said was true…"  
  
"What did the Admiral say?" Scully demanded as the EMT tech  
  
took her pulse.  
  
Skinner couldn't bring himself to admit to her his  
  
conclusion.  
  
Meanwhile, back in the future  
  
*****************************  
  
Back in the waiting room, while Al was with Sam and  
  
Starkweather in his time, Doggett was going stir crazy in a  
  
time and body that was not his own.  
  
He hated being ordered. He hated not being able to do  
  
anything about the situation back in his own time. He hated  
  
seeing a stranger's face in reflections, and hearing  
  
another man's voice come from his mouth.  
  
He was angry and trapped, and of course those feelings  
  
manifested themselves as a jack-ass, making him lash out at  
  
anyone in arm's reach. He surprised himself when he didn't  
  
punch the Italian Seaman back.  
  
He hated not being there for either Scully or Starkweather.  
  
When he was assigned to Scully's department, he made a  
  
promise to her to watch her back and to find Mulder. He was  
  
about to break both of those promises.  
  
He'd already broke one of them once.  
  
He knew he earned his trust after two years of partnership,  
  
but unless something was about to change drastically, it  
  
looked as though all that trust was about to be shot out of  
  
the water. Not that her trust mattered if she was going to  
  
be killed, he thought, exhaling in rage.  
  
Jerilyn Starkweather was a different matter altogether.  
  
Doggett felt a need to protect Scully, but something seered  
  
much deeper for Doc. Somehow, he felt a bond that hadn't  
  
even been there with the former Mrs. Doggett.  
  
He knew both of them must be going through a Hell worse  
  
than he was at the moment, but all the same he just  
  
couldn't stand around and wait for disaster to strike. He  
  
had abandoned both of them, and wanted to get back.  
  
But to return, he had to believe that this was possible.  
  
That this was real. That this wasn't a nightmare, a cruel  
  
joke, a neat party trick, a hallucination, or something in  
  
between.  
  
Part of him wished fervently that this was possible. If  
  
time-travel was possible, then there existed a slight  
  
chance that someone could go back in time and stop the  
  
death of Luke, who would have been 13 three days ago...or  
  
was it fifteen years and three days ago? That was becoming  
  
more and more arbitrary to Doggett. The only time reference  
  
that mattered to him now was how much time remained until  
  
disaster struck.  
  
The catch of the century was that if time travel *was*  
  
possible, then that meant that Luke could have been saved.  
  
There was something he could have done to prevent his son's  
  
horrible murder. That wasn't something he was prepared to  
  
believe. That wasn't something he was prepared to  
  
understand. That wasn't a road he wanted to go down.  
  
Doggett let out a ragged sigh; one more time he half-  
  
heartedly studied the police photos Admiral Calivici had  
  
left with him. Clinging to the possibility that maybe  
  
*this* time something would reveal itself that hadn't come  
  
to light before.  
  
Doggett wasn't aware of falling asleep. The almost-  
  
arbitrary time had gone undetected, but in his next  
  
conscious moment, he was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes,  
  
blinking in disblief.  
  
"Calivici!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, not taking  
  
his eyes off of the sight before him. "What the F*CK is  
  
going on here. What the HELL IS THIS!? DAMMIT I..."  
  
"Agent Doggett..." Verbeena came in, eyes widening in  
  
puzzlement.  
  
"Where's Calavici."  
  
"In the imaging chamber."  
  
"Did he have anything to do with this?" He managed to  
  
stammer, pointing a finger at what Verbeena Beeks couldn't  
  
see.  
  
"What--*this*--exactly are you referring to. Agent  
  
Doggett... John...I assure you we are not a part of what  
  
you are upset about." Dr. Beeks had never experienced a  
  
reaction like this from Leapers before.  
  
The image of an illuminated toweheaded little boy with  
  
piercing blue eyes appeared to be unalarmed by his  
  
outbursts. Doggett thought he heard the boy saying "Daddy."  
  
He was mouthing *thirty-seven* over and over again.  
  
Then the boy was gone.  
  
"Thirty seven...thirty seven...God dammit! Thirty-seven  
  
WHAT?!?! THIRTY SEVEN *WHAT* LUKE?!!!!"  
  
Verbeena ordered the nurses to prepare a sedative.  
  
  
  
Tacoma Park Falls  
  
LGM Lair  
  
*************  
  
Langly got off the phone with Starkweather and finished  
  
his game of Starcraft.  
  
Of course he was going to help her. She knew where he  
  
lived. She got Byers to confess his virginity. She had a  
  
gun and knew how to use it. "You gotta love a girl who  
  
knows how to put a guy in a death grip." He said with a  
  
sigh.  
  
But there was one thing he had to do before he began. He  
  
logged on and pulled up his playlist. As much as he loved  
  
Megadeth and The Rolling Stones and Hendrix, it was time  
  
for some new stuff.  
  
"Frohike!" He hollared "What the hell is Elvis doing on my  
  
playlist!"  
  
"Blame it on Mulder." Frohike grumbled back. He was busily  
  
pecking away. Langley leaned over his shoulder. "Since when  
  
are you a fourteen year-old girl, DanasRomeo?"  
  
"Since I logged on." Frohike replied.  
  
"That is just plain SICK, man." Langley said, turning back  
  
to his computer and pulling up his favorite MP3 site.  
  
"Not as sick as having a crush on Mulder's SISTER." Frohike  
  
retorted.  
  
"I do NOT have a crush on Starkweather!" Langley pouted.  
  
"Deny, deny, deny...but it's as plain as the ridiculous  
  
glasses on your face." Frohike refuted, not even glancing  
  
up from his screen.  
  
"That does not even dignify a response!" Langley answered  
  
and went onto the Kazaa website, typed a search for  
  
Metallica, not because he actually liked their music, and  
  
spitefully right-clicked every song on the list.  
  
"Get jiggy with THAT Lars Ulrich" he muttered and waited  
  
for each song that snuck its way into that search.  
  
The song began to play, and Langley and Frohike both  
  
exchanged confused glances. "Since when did Lars Ulrich  
  
play the trumpet?" Langley wondered.  
  
I want a girl with a mind like a diamond  
  
I want a girl who knows what's best  
  
I want a girl with shoes that cut  
  
and eyes that burn like cigarettes  
  
I want a girl with bright allocations  
  
who's fast and thorough and sharp as a tack  
  
she's playing with her jewelry she's putting up her hair  
  
she's touring the facilities and picking up slack  
  
I want a girl with a short skirt  
  
and a loooooooong jacket  
  
I want a girl who gets up early  
  
I want a girl who stays up late  
  
I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity  
  
who uses a machete to cut through red tape  
  
With fingernails that shine like justice  
  
and a voice that is dark like tinted glass  
  
she is fast thorough and sharp as a tack  
  
she is touring the facility and picking up slack  
  
I want a girl with a short skirt  
  
and a looooonnng long jacket  
  
I want a girl with the smooth liquidations  
  
I want a girl with good...dividends  
  
At city bank we will meet accidentally  
  
We'll start to talk when she borrows my pen  
  
She wants a car with a cup holder armrest  
  
She wants a car that will get her there  
  
she's changing her name from Kitty to Karen  
  
She's trading her MG for a White Chrysler LaBarren  
  
I want a girl with a short skirt  
  
and a looooooooooooong jacket  
  
"She's got great dividends." Frohike said dryly.  
  
"You think Lars Ulrich knew Starkweather?"  
  
"I don't know what the fuck that was...but sure as shit  
  
wasn't Metallica."  
  
"Sometimes people don't do their homework when they upload  
  
these files." Byers said, coming in the lair. "According to  
  
those idiots, "Leaving on a Jet Plane" from the Armageddon  
  
soundtrack was recorded by Bjork and Jewel.  
  
"What ever happened to the days when bands had normal  
  
names...like They Might Be Giants..."  
  
"...and The Who, and The Kinks?" Frohike finished.  
  
En route to Justin Leo's  
  
Starkweather kept her eyes on the road, darting around  
  
cars, zipping around semis. "Get out of my way," she  
  
muttered to a large 1977 puke-orange Chrysler Landau that  
  
just boxed her in. "I'm gonna miss my exit," she snarled,  
  
fuming. "God dammit all."  
  
"Starkweather," Sam said patiently as Al sat quietly in the  
  
backseat, sweating. "Slow down."  
  
"I'm only doing 65."  
  
"No, I mean slow down your thinking. You're going off like  
  
a bat out of hell on a hunch. That's a little too..." Sam  
  
grimaced. "Mulder-like for my taste."  
  
"That's not even funny, even by your redneck standards."  
  
"Why Leo? If I'm going to get dirty with you, I need to  
  
know why."  
  
Starkweather sighed. "I wish I would have thought of it  
  
sooner, it would have saved everyone a bunch a grief,  
  
Mulder and Scully especially. But y'know when you're  
  
suddenly widowed, things have a tendency to slip your mind.  
  
I could just kick myself Doggett. You were right, Mulder IS  
  
getting set up, possibly to go to prison, but more likely  
  
to be killed and it's because I had my head up my butt."  
  
"What are you remembering?"  
  
Starkweather sighed with relief as she passed the Chrysler  
  
and floored it, going 80 mph now. "Before all this shit  
  
went down, you know how I stopped by your house a few days  
  
ago to drop off a copy of the Scotland file you wanted to  
  
look over? And I told you how Ben and I were going to go to  
  
Hooters to celebrate him getting his new job and his first  
  
solo case?"  
  
"Hooters?"  
  
"Yeah, I know... real classy... anyway, the beer started  
  
flowing and people stop talking and start gossiping....."  
  
**********************  
  
A few days back  
  
Hooters Bar and Resturant  
  
Ben found his new friends quickly, they had rock-star  
  
seating in front of the big screen TV. Ben introduced  
  
Jerilyn to everyone as his "big, bad FBI broad," which  
  
broke the ice immediately. Jerilyn was relieved to see a  
  
lot of the lawyers had brought girlfriends and wives. Soon,  
  
the beer was flowing and Jerilyn found herself laughing  
  
along with everyone else, feeling for the first time in a  
  
long long time, like a normal woman.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a familiar dark-  
  
haired, hazel puppy-dogged eyed man, so slowly, she  
  
swiveled her head around and sure enough, there was the  
  
Deputy Mayor, watching the game with some of his City Hall  
  
cronies. He grinned at her and Starkweather forced herself  
  
to smile back and, as politely as possible, turn her  
  
attention back to the game. I don't know what's worse she  
  
grumbled to herself as she sipped her beer. Almost being  
  
killed or having to be nice to that son-of-a-b*tch for the  
  
rest of my life.  
  
Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that the 'son-of-a-  
  
bitch' was growing on her. She couldn't explain it, didn't  
  
even try to explain it Ben, to Doggett, to anyone, but she  
  
felt like she knew him from somewhere before. Perhaps in a  
  
different lifetime, but, even though she still personally  
  
didn't care for him but was slowly learning to accept his  
  
assistance and advice... whenever she was in his presence,  
  
she felt a strong aura of... Family?  
  
She couldn't figure out why that word kept popping into her  
  
head. She took Ben's hand and tried to enjoy the rest of  
  
the night.  
  
Several beers later, Jerilyn finally managed to forget  
  
about the existence of Mulder and got drawn into petty  
  
scandals that plague every business and occupation.  
  
J. Stephen Cello III, recently promoted to the status of  
  
"partner" at Carter, Spangle and Adam, ordered another  
  
round plus another plate of raw oysters on the half shell,  
  
turned to Margot Marie Rogeux-Brandybuck, the lone female  
  
lawyer present, and said "Hey Meg, psycho-boy finally got  
  
canned."  
  
"I thought he was fired a long time ago?" Meg said after  
  
she downed her beer in one big chug. Her name was prettier  
  
and bigger than she was, but her personality made up for  
  
lack of looks. She could also outdrink almost all of her  
  
male co-workers, which was amazing since she was more  
  
petite than Starkweather or Scully even. She was also as  
  
lethal as arsenic in the legal arena. "Did you order me  
  
another beer, Steve?" She lit a cigarette and offered one  
  
to Ben, which he accepted.  
  
Steve, meanwhile was so devastatingly handsome, he could  
  
make women forget the existence of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt  
  
and Russell Crowe. When Ben introduced him to her, Jerilyn  
  
had a huge "Damn, I'm married" moment when she looked into  
  
his dazzling green eyes and perfectly white smile. "You  
  
doubt me?" He said mockingly. "No, I mean, it's official.  
  
Jessy Spangle herself told me they officially terminated  
  
him today."  
  
Jerilyn had a pretty good buzz going, feeling like a wimp  
  
next to Meg and Ben was feeling no pain. She devoutly hoped  
  
he remembered that they had taken the motorcycle out and  
  
she was in no shape to drive them home on it. She shrugged  
  
it off. There was a Motel 6 within staggering distance. A  
  
devillish little smile played on her lips. Now, THAT  
  
might be kind of fun...  
  
Ben broke into her impure thoughts. "Wait, guys, I'm lost.  
  
Who's psycho boy? I don't think I've met him.....  
  
You weren't missing anything," a voice drawled from further  
  
up the table. Snickering was abound.  
  
Ben, who loved gossip worse than a old woman, persisted.  
  
"So what's the story with Pyscho-Boy?"  
  
Meg took a long pull on her newest beer before she started.  
  
"Young kid, fresh outta school. Jessy and Lisa (as in Lisa  
  
MacKenna Carter, daughter of the decreased law firm  
  
founder, Malachy Carter, second in line after senior  
  
partner Jessy Spangle) were recruiting him hardcore.  
  
Finished first in his class in his undergrad years at  
  
Purdue in Indiana, fucking second out of everybody at his  
  
class at Harvard Law. We get him here and he's doing  
  
crackerjack good. Nailed his first two cases, got a sweet  
  
out of court settlement on his third. Was making the firm  
  
not just good money, but real money. Then after awhile, I  
  
don't know. He got weird on us."  
  
"Define weird," Ben asked.  
  
Meg and Steve looked at each other, then looked at Jerilyn.  
  
"Well... we don't want to offend anyone, especially you,  
  
Jeri," Steve said, giving her a smile that made Mrs.  
  
Starkweather want to melt at his feet. Motel 6, Motel 6  
  
she told herself as she leaned her head, spinning just  
  
slightly from all the beer, onto Ben's shoulder.  
  
"It takes a lot to offend me, Steve," she said, snuggling  
  
into Ben.  
  
"Well, I gathered that... but Ben told us that you've had  
  
the dubious honor of being assigned to the X-Files Division  
  
at the Bureau and we've all heard stories about your  
  
predecessor, Special Agent Mulder."  
  
"That's Deputy Mayor Mulder, if you please," Meg said,  
  
lighting another cigarette. "How the hell did he get THAT  
  
job?"  
  
My daddy Jerilyn thought with a groan as she said "I  
  
heard the stories too and a lot of it is just that.  
  
Stories. Really, the X-Files just checks into shitty crimes  
  
that normal feds can't explain away. We're the IRS of the  
  
paranormal. We audit these claims of strange happening to  
  
see if there's for real or not and a lot of times they're  
  
not... but the times they are... damn, watch your step, the  
  
first one's a lu-lu."  
  
There was chuckling abound, but then Meg asked. "So do you  
  
believe in that stuff? UFOs and whatnot?"  
  
Jerilyn thought carefully. She knew she was drunk, so she  
  
made herself speak slowly. She did not want to spew out:  
  
Actually, about a month ago, I was attacked by a  
  
homicidal shapeshifter which my colleagues believe is from  
  
another planet. "Oh, I don't know. With an universe as  
  
big as ours, its illogical to even pretend that other life  
  
cannot exist out there, but on the other side, the only  
  
aliens I've seen for sure are on the movie screen." Jerilyn  
  
shrugged. "I have an open-mind, but not so open that my  
  
brains will fall out."  
  
"Well, that's what happened to Leo. His head opened up and  
  
his brains plopped out onto the floor," Steve said before  
  
he sucked down an oyster. "Damn shame. A damn shame."  
  
"Leo?" Ben asked. "Who's Leo?"  
  
"Justin Leo. Psycho Boy." Steve devoured another oyster.  
  
"About four months ago, he just came unglued. Guess he had  
  
some girlfriend, a high school sweetheart that was abducted  
  
and he had never been able to deal with the truth of what  
  
happened."  
  
"Which was?" Ben asked.  
  
"According to police reports, the kids were on a date, she  
  
wandered off into the woods and was never seen again. Leo  
  
swore up and down that she was abducted. By aliens. And he  
  
saw them take her. He must of realized that he sounded less  
  
than sane because he never spoke of it again. But he  
  
started messing up at work. Missed a few court dates, was  
  
put on probation by Spangle. Didn't show up for work a few  
  
days, kept calling in sick, got put on Short Term  
  
Disability and Lisa suggested he get some professional  
  
help. Came into work a few weeks later, and this was right  
  
before you started, Ben. Like literally days before you and  
  
Jerilyn moved down here and even interviewed with us."  
  
Steve helped himself to yet another oyster. "Want one?" he  
  
gestured to the plate. Ben and Jeri both shook their heads.  
  
"He came into work," Steve went on, happy that he could  
  
have all the raw oysters to himself, "and it was so obvious  
  
that he hadn't slept at all. He looked like shit and he was  
  
co-representing a big, big client with me, or well, was  
  
supposed to. I had called him just a few days before that  
  
to see if he got the notes and files I sent him and if he  
  
had his shit in gear and he said yes, he was ready to rock  
  
and roll, so I left it at that, but when I saw him stagger  
  
into the office..." Steve shook his head. "And I felt bad  
  
what I did, but if I told you how many hours I logged into  
  
that case and how much I stood to gain, not just my salary,  
  
but what I was going to be bringing into CS & A, you would  
  
piss yourselves."  
  
"Was he drunk?" Jerilyn asked, appalled at such  
  
unprofessional behavior. She had done somethings on the job  
  
that she regretted wholeheartedly, but she had never gone  
  
into work under the influence.  
  
"No, just sleep deprived. So I pulled him aside because,  
  
well, we weren't the best of friends, but we were bar  
  
buddies and we used to play squash together on a regular  
  
basis before he flipped out on us. But I think I was the  
  
closest thing to a friend that he had at that point so I  
  
asked him what was wrong with him and did he realize how  
  
close Jess and Lis were to firing him. And he told me that  
  
he had been moonlighting for a secret agency that would  
  
help him get his high school sweetheart back. He told me  
  
crazy shit no self respecting lawyer would do. We get such  
  
a bad rap about being money-grubbing and corrupt and all it  
  
takes is one bad lawyer to make those of us who try and  
  
follow our code of ethics look really bad. Plus, he was  
  
making Carter, Spangle and Adams look bad. He had dirty  
  
deals going all over the place. I can't even imagine some  
  
of the crap he's pulled, judges in his pocket, taking  
  
payoffs, bending tax laws for businesses we wouldn't even  
  
touch-  
  
"Why not?" Jerilyn asked.  
  
"Because we believe they're not businesses at all but  
  
fronts for illegal operations. I was disgusted. So..." here  
  
he sighed. "I knew I was going to destroy his career, but  
  
dammit, I was not going to have my firm get pulled into an  
  
investigation for one little pissant crook, no matter how  
  
smart he was. Especially after I was just made partner.  
  
So... I went to Levi (Levi Adams, the third and last living  
  
founder of the law firm, technically in retirement since he  
  
was nearing eighty, but still owned the firm and still came  
  
into the office to offer advice, except when the weather  
  
was good for golfing) and told him what was up, what Psycho  
  
Boy told me and you know what? That old man can move  
  
**fast** when he gets a burr up his butt. Tracked Leo down,  
  
told him in no uncertain terms that he's suspended without  
  
pay or benefits until further notice, his contract will be  
  
reviewed by the senior partners and he will recommend an  
  
investigation and an disbarment hearing. Nobody had seen  
  
him since. I had lunch with Jessy today and she told him  
  
that Psycho Boy had been officially terminated as of today  
  
and Lisa is starting a quiet, low key investigation of  
  
him."  
  
"What a nut job," was all Ben had to say before the next  
  
bit of tittle-tattle popped up. "Speaking of nut jobs, have  
  
you ever heard of a guy named...."  
  
***********************************  
  
Back in Starkweather's car  
  
Starkweather shook her head. "So, you see, nobody hears  
  
from Leo and all of a sudden, he's representing Mulder? For  
  
the murder of a lawyer from Carter, Spangle and Adams? Leo  
  
must have done a good job keeping it quiet because if CS &  
  
A knew he was practising law again, they'd be all over him  
  
like a cheap suit. ESPECIALLY if it is to defend the man  
  
who is suspected of killing one of their own. And CS & A  
  
love Ben's ass. I know that for sure."  
  
"So what are you going to do when you get to Leo's?" Sam  
  
asked.  
  
"Get Ben's lighter back."  
  
"Starkweather, pull over," Sam said.  
  
"Sorry, but you should have gone before we left."  
  
"Starkweather, I am serious. Pull over... there, the next  
  
rest stop. We need to talk before we do this."  
  
"Talk about what?"  
  
"The fact that if Mulder is being targeted, that may very  
  
well mean that Scully's being targeted, Skinner's being  
  
targeted, Reyes, myself, you... we can't just go storming  
  
into Leo's like... like... an action hero. We need to think  
  
this out, what to do. How to help Mulder. Because if you  
  
get yourself killed, that won't help any of us." Sam looked  
  
at Al out of the corner of his eyes.  
  
Al looked down at his com-link, looked back up at Sam and  
  
smiled, nodding his head. He had good news.  
  
Starkweather sighed. "I'm going to use the little girl's  
  
room then," she muttered. "I'll be back."  
  
The minute she disappeared into the women's room, Sam  
  
turned around, "Al?"  
  
"Starkweather's going to be okay. She avoids Leo, who was  
  
sent out to kill her. Leo gets busted breaking into her  
  
apartment by an off-duty cop who lives across the hall, so  
  
he's going to be out of the picture for a little while. So,  
  
she's going to be fine for a little bit." Sam breathed a  
  
long sigh of relief. "Don't get too comfortable Sam,  
  
Mulder's still in trouble. The X-Files still gets shut down  
  
and all the X-Filers get picked off one by one,  
  
Starkweather included."  
  
"What do we have to do, Al?" Sam demanded.  
  
Al shook his head. "We gotta get Mulder outta that cell.  
  
And we gotta get Benny-Boy outta harm's way."  
  
"Oh boy..." Sam muttered. "Wonder who I can call on to plan  
  
a prison break?"  
  
Al hestitated, then said, "Well..."  
  
Sam read his mind. "NO."  
  
"Sam."  
  
"NO."  
  
"Sa---AMMMM..."  
  
"I have no choice?"  
  
"Not at this late in the game."  
  
Sam pursed his lips and slid over into the driver's seat  
  
just as Starkweather came back. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Get in," he said. "We're going for a ride."  
  
"Where to?"  
  
"The Lone Gunmen."  
  
"OH GAWD....." she bitched heartily but she got in and let  
  
Sam-in-Doggett drive  
  
The LGM's Lair  
  
9:00 PM,  
  
Twenty-one hours away  
  
from Mulder's predicted death  
  
Sam had wasted precious time getting lost. For the life of  
  
him, he could not remember how to get to the Lone Gunmen's  
  
lair, since the first and last time he was there, Mulder  
  
had driven. Al had left much earlier, mumbling something or  
  
other about checking in on Scully. Starkweather had never  
  
been to the infamous Lair before and asked him several  
  
times, "Are you sure you know where you're going?"  
  
But at straight up nine o'clock Sam finally pulled into the  
  
dirt parking lot in front of the warehouse the Gunmen had  
  
commandeered. Sam and Starkweather got out of the car.  
  
"Where's the door?" she asked as she followed Sam around  
  
the building.  
  
"Here it is," Sam knocked on the heavy metal door, blended  
  
in with the rest of the rusted-out building. "Ow!" He shook  
  
his hand after pounding on the door.  
  
"See... this is what's cool about metal-toed boots,"  
  
Starkweather gave the door a few swift kicks.  
  
The peephole slid open and Langley's nasally voice was  
  
heard, "Oh, it's you," he said disparagingly to Sam-in-  
  
Doggett.  
  
Starkweather reached through the peephole and poked Langly  
  
in the face hard. "Let us in, Blonde-O."  
  
"OW!! CRIPES!!" Langley hollared as he backed away. Shortly  
  
after, the door itself opened. Langley stood there, rubbing  
  
his face  
  
Sam decided to take control of the situation. "Look, all of  
  
that aside, we need your help."  
  
"With what?" Byers had just come out of the bathroom.  
  
"Mulder is in trouble-" Sam started.  
  
"No shit," Langley interjected.  
  
"I have reason to believe that he could very well be killed  
  
tomorrow."  
  
"That's not good," Frohike stated the obvious.  
  
"Especially since he probably used up his last of his nine  
  
lives," Langley added, going to the mini-fridge to see if  
  
there was any ice. He could feel his face swelling up from  
  
where Starkweather had poked him.  
  
"We need to get him out of that cell," Sam said.  
  
Everyone stopped what they were doing. "Doggett, you are  
  
NOT suggesting a prison break!" Starkweather gasped.  
  
"Starkweather, you said yourself that the game just got  
  
dirty."  
  
"Well, I KNOW... but, god, Doggett... our careers... and  
  
Mulder? What are we going to do with him? Let him go on the  
  
lamb? What about Scully and the baby? And what if we're  
  
wrong? We don't have a shred of physical evidence of either  
  
guilt or innocence and we get him out and-"  
  
"Mulder's NOT a killer," Frohike interupted staunchly. "I'm  
  
in."  
  
"I don't believe that he's a killer either, not anymore,  
  
but if we don't have sufficient proof that he's innocent,  
  
we could ALL go to jail for a very long time. And I look  
  
terrible in orange." Starkweather defended her stance. "We  
  
need to go through the proper channels. We need to find  
  
Leo-"  
  
"Starkweather, I'd hate to interrupt," Sam said, "but you  
  
weren't exactly thinking about going through proper  
  
channels when we were about to go after Leo tonight."  
  
Starkweather scowled. "I wasn't thinking clearly and you  
  
set me straight. But there's a difference between  
  
misdemeanor assault and a felony offense. Mulder IS in  
  
trouble, but let's get him out of the county lock-up, get  
  
him into solitary at a secured location and lets work the  
  
legal system. We're FBI agents, not the fucking A-Team."  
  
"I LOVE that show!!!" Langley said. "I'm in!"  
  
"Starkweather," Sam said patiently as he felt her hazel  
  
eyes bore into him. "There isn't time to play by the rules  
  
anymore. We need to get Mulder out now. Tonight  
  
preferably."  
  
"Tonight's no good," Frohike said, who had switched  
  
computers while his was downloading information from CS &  
  
A. "County doesn't have the best security system in the  
  
world, but still, it's pretty intricate. We could probably  
  
have their systems crash by tomorrow morning, tomorrow  
  
afternoon by the latest."  
  
Starkweather was totally ignoring Frohike's speech. "What  
  
proof do you have Doggett? That Mulder's in this much  
  
danger that there's no other alternative?"  
  
Sam thought fast. "The house explosion. If these people can  
  
blow up a house of an innocent woman... who's to say who's  
  
next? Plus we need Mulder. We need him to find out what  
  
really happened to Ben. I have trouble believing the body  
  
they pulled out of the river is really him," he HAD to get  
  
her to trust him. "There's a chance that Ben could still be  
  
alive."  
  
Starkweather sadly dug something out of her pocket. "This  
  
IS his wedding ring though." She held the golden band up  
  
for him to see.  
  
"But Doc," Sam said, "if you saw Leo holding Ben's lighter,  
  
who's to say they didn't take other things from him?"  
  
Starkweather thought carefully of the "hallucinations" she  
  
had been having lately. "Do you think there's really a  
  
chance that's true?" she said in a voice that wanted to  
  
hope.  
  
"I do, I really do," Sam said, longing to reach out and  
  
hold her tight but instead just taking her hand that held  
  
Ben's ring. "I really believe you're going to see Ben again  
  
to put that ring back where it belongs."  
  
Starkweather's eyes got all bright as if she was about to  
  
cry, but she was fully aware of the three spectators around  
  
her. "WHAT???" she snapped at them. She put the ring back  
  
in her pocket and pursed her lips. "Alright, how are we  
  
going to get the cocksucker out of jail?" she asked the  
  
Lone Gunmen  
  
Meanwhile...back in the future...  
  
************************************  
  
Dr. Beeks felt sorry for the man falling under the forged  
  
spell of the sedative, but she was really left with no  
  
choice. In the agitated state brought on by undoubtedly  
  
heightened psychological stress, the leapee was acting  
  
irrationally and would possibly do more damage that the  
  
already ridiculously-tight project budget could stand. The  
  
Admiral would undoubtedly give her a mouthful when he  
  
returned from the chamber to check on the situation on the  
  
slight chance that Doggett could provide anymore useful  
  
information, but there was little she could do. Her hands  
  
were tied and Doggett slipped into unconsciousness,  
  
mumbling something to her about finding the Admiral for him  
  
and finding out about 37...  
  
In Doggett's next conscious moment, he found himself  
  
climbing out of Mulder's car in a driveway of a modest home  
  
with his own name in blockletters sternly propped on the  
  
mailbox. He reached down for his clipper when he saw his  
  
truck was in the driveway. Passing the rearview mirror, he  
  
paused and ran his hands over the peppering hair and more  
  
obvious crowesfeet, but that wasn't what unnerved him. What  
  
made him stop in his tracks was his own reflection starring  
  
back at him. His pulse raced as he touched the hood.  
  
"Who the hell was driving the truck?" Doggett murmured as  
  
he ran as stealthily as possible into the house.  
  
He whipped out his cell. "Mulder, I need you back over  
  
here, something's up." Without a word, he tucked the cell  
  
back in his pocket and burst open the door, wielding his  
  
gun.  
  
"What the hell did you do with Doggett?" Starkweather,  
  
obviously fifteen years older, was demanding a stranger.  
  
Starkweather gave him an imploring glance, and Doggett ran  
  
upstairs. A fair-haired little girl with his eyes met him  
  
in the hallway. He got down on a knee so he could be eye-  
  
level with the little girl.  
  
"Daddy, Mommy isn't going to hurt that man in the kitchen  
  
is she?" She said, running up to him and putting her arms  
  
around his neck. Doggett somehow accepted this as a  
  
perfectly natural thing. "He said he was bringing you here,  
  
but Mommy looked scared when he came in the house. I don't  
  
think he is here to hurt anybody."  
  
"What's his name?"  
  
"Sam."  
  
"Well, I better make sure your Mommy and *Sam* aren't going  
  
to mess up the kitchen. You go play in your room, okay?"  
  
"Okay daddy." She chirped and planted a kiss on his cheek.  
  
He went into the kitchen, where Starkweather was still  
  
welding a gun at Sam. In the next few minutes, Doggett saw  
  
Mulder pull into the driveway and come into the house,  
  
bursting through the door.  
  
"Sam?!" Mulder sputtered.  
  
The man nodded.  
  
"You know this creep?" demanded Starkweather, not taking  
  
her eyes off the man.  
  
Earlier that evening  
  
Cello Residence  
  
*******************  
  
With a heavy sigh, J. Steven Cello III plopped down his  
  
briefcase in the hallway and slung his coat haphazardly  
  
over an easy chair. The female members of is law firm often  
  
marveled at how a man with Rock Hudsonesque looks, Roman  
  
numerals behind his name, a successful career, and a 1956  
  
red Porsche convertible stayed single as long as he did.  
  
Steve went for the freezer and got out what Ben had called  
  
once the Bachelor's Special, then went to the fridge for a  
  
Heineken, took a long sip and set the microwave for his  
  
frozen dinner.  
  
"Hey, Steve, did you see the news tonight?"  
  
"No, all I pay attention to is how the ball falls, how the  
  
rain falls, how the market falls, and how the gavel falls,  
  
and that I can get online. The news is too goddamn  
  
depressing." Steve grumbled back, taking a cardboardish  
  
mouthful of his unevenly heated chicken.  
  
"Well...turn to channel seven, will ya. It's  
  
depressing...but you sound like you could use a good car  
  
wreck to watch."  
  
"If you're just joining us we're at the site of an  
  
explosion that happened right here behind me. Earlier this  
  
evening this lot behind me had a house in it. Luckily, all  
  
occupants have survived, no one has been hurt, but  
  
questions remain about the origins of the explosions."  
  
"I saw Psycho Boy in a clip earlier and did some quick  
  
checking. Turns out that the house belonged to Ana and  
  
Harry Sedai...his step-sister."  
  
"Well, if that don't put the vodka in the jello shooters."  
  
He whistled.  
  
"You wanna hear something else?" Meg egged on  
  
Steve nodded his head as if she could see him.  
  
"I did some more digging and get this...the little rat has  
  
been cherading as one of our lawyers and according to your  
  
good friend and mine, the DA, said that she got the  
  
impression Leo was just going through a song and dance, and  
  
the DM's bail was set through the roof."  
  
"I can't believe that little shit!" He muttered. "I tell  
  
you what," he offered, "you fax those police reports to me  
  
and I'll do your homework for ya. You take the rest of the  
  
night off."  
  
"I appreciate that, Steve. The police reports are fucking  
  
captivating. They read like some goddamn lawyer novel."  
  
"That's why I love this job, Megaparsec! I'll see ya  
  
tomorrow." He said and hung up. He booted up his computer,  
  
and pushed play on his stereo. "Phantom of the Opera"  
  
blasted through the house as he went to the court TV  
  
website.  
  
Back at the LGM Lair  
  
Sam was hovering over Frohike's shoulder. Byers and Langley  
  
were gone, sent on errands such as gassing up the Lone  
  
Gunmanmobile, filling a prescription for a sedative that  
  
Dr. Starkweather wrote out, buying supplies like bullets,  
  
batteries, beer, pizzas, a hat, a pair of reading glasses,  
  
theatrical makeup and a pair of ladies shorts and a tank  
  
top and to get Ben's motorcycle from the Starkweathers'  
  
garage. Starkweather was sitting by herself in the corner,  
  
cleaning her guns and Doggett's as well.  
  
"Okay, here's the scoop," Frohike said, pointing at  
  
MapQwest on the screen. "Here's where me and the calvary  
  
will be operating. Once you and Freezie Queenie over there-  
  
" Starkweather shot him a dirty look, but Frohike ignored  
  
her "-get Mulder out, we'll roundaview two blocks south of  
  
lockup. You and Starkweather go together but don't take her  
  
piece of shit car and don't take your truck. Hopefully,  
  
we'll have the surveillance equipment so screwed up and you  
  
guys will have the main guard so drugged up, they wouldn't  
  
be able to pin it on you. But you guys gotta move fast.  
  
Once we do our kung-fu on their systems, we've got a window  
  
of twenty-five minutes."  
  
"That's not a lot of time," Starkweather said, extremely  
  
concerned. She had just finished up Doggett's side arm and  
  
had started working on her little Baretta she liked to wear  
  
in her ankle holster. Just then, her cell phone went off.  
  
"Agent Starkweather."  
  
"Starkweather, it's AD Skinner. I'm very concerned for you-  
  
" Starkweather half-expected him to call her "young lady."  
  
"I know sir, and I'm sorry, but can I call you back?  
  
Thanks." She hung up on him before he even gave her his  
  
consent. Best to leave the AD out of the loop as far as  
  
illegal activities go.  
  
June 19, 2002  
  
The Lone Gunmen's Lair  
  
11:00 AM  
  
Six hours away from Mulder's projected death  
  
Everyone started to move around nine-thirty. Starkweather  
  
took over the bathroom first and the "boys" (Sam included)  
  
waiting with impatient feet and full bladders for her to  
  
get out. Finally, Frohike declared, "Dammit, I'm a man. I'm  
  
going to find a bush," and stalked out while Starkweather  
  
finished her shower. She came out, hair wet, wearing the  
  
tight white tank top and cargo shorts that Langley had  
  
bought for her last night. "Little short, Langley," she  
  
grumbled at him as she walked by, showing a little more leg  
  
and thigh than she was used to.  
  
Langly only grinned like an idiot and went about his work  
  
humming "I want a girl with a short skirt and a  
  
lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng jacket."  
  
Starkweather had flashed him a dirty look as she parted her  
  
damp hair and started to plait it into one thick braid. As  
  
she fixed her hair, Sam dove into the bathroom and washed  
  
up, putting on one of Byers' suits. Byers himself had left  
  
to get food. He came out to find Starkweather with a Swiss  
  
Miss hairdo, pushing hairpins into her scalp while Langley  
  
watched in awe. "Dude, she looks like Princess Leia in  
  
'Empire Strikes Back'!"  
  
"Oh shut up," both Starkweather and Frohike snapped.  
  
"Sit down, Doggie," Frohike ordered him gruffly. Sam did  
  
and let Frohike unbutton his shirt.  
  
"Kinky," Starkweather purred as she patted the braids  
  
around her head.  
  
"Careful, Mulder'll get jealous," Langley said as he  
  
started to pack up his gear.  
  
"Stick your head into a bucket of Chlorox," Frohike snarled  
  
as he taped the microphone to Doggett's chest. "Now this is  
  
plastic," Frohike lectured him, "so the sound quality ain't  
  
that great, but you won't be setting off any metal  
  
detectors. So you gotta speak up good and loud, but not too  
  
loud." Sam buttoned up his shirt as Frohike went to get the  
  
earpiece. "This cell phone," he held up a Nokia 5100 model  
  
"is a fake, don't bother trying to call us on it. It's  
  
camouflage for this," He held up an ear piece. "See, the  
  
cord can become detached," He demonstrated then put the  
  
cord back into the earpiece and connected the cord to the  
  
phone, "and it'll still work. Once the clock starts  
  
tickin', if the cord gets ripped away from the phone, don't  
  
worry about. Keep your real cell phone in your shirt pocket  
  
so you don't lose it. Now, you'll be able to talk to both  
  
me and Starkweather," he turned to her now, carrying a  
  
small headphone with only one earpiece that had a small  
  
boom microphone attached.  
  
"Oh goody," she said. "I get to be Garth Brooks."  
  
Frohike carefully slid the headpiece on, positioning it  
  
underneath her braids. He fiddled about with the mike. "How  
  
does that feel?"  
  
"Weird. But I'll live. Does it come with a fake cell phone  
  
too?"  
  
"No ma'am," Frohike said. "Yours is real. You're paired up  
  
with Mulder so if we for some reason we get separated from  
  
you two and out of radio contact, we still have digital  
  
contact." Frohike took her hand and guided it to a small  
  
switch on the headset. "If we start breaking up, flick this  
  
small button "Up" and then hit the number three and the  
  
"Send" button. You'll get us, I promise."  
  
"What if I get separated from Mulder?" Starkweather asked.  
  
Frohike glowered at her. "Your job is NOT to get separated  
  
from Mulder."  
  
"I'm not PLANNING on it!" she snapped.  
  
"Hey, hey, hey..." Sam said. "We're all getting a little  
  
tense. Let's just... take deep breaths. Cool down. We need  
  
to be calm to pull this off." Sam sounded more relaxed than  
  
he felt.... he looked at his watch.... straight up eleven  
  
o'clock. Six hours away from Mulder's predicted doom... "Oh  
  
boy..." he muttered as Byers came back from McDonalds with  
  
enough grease to clog the arteries of everyone in a small  
  
county.  
  
Al, where are you?? he wondered.  
  
He also wondered what Scully had found out last night.  
  
June 19, 2001  
  
3:16pm, Eastern Standard Time  
  
Forty-four minutes away from Mulder's projected death  
  
Sam had been sitting in the rental car, a nice looking Ford  
  
Explorer that blended in nicely with all the other cars in  
  
the busy Washington DC traffic, for hours now. His wait was  
  
nearly over. He looked his (Doggett's) watch. Three-sixteen  
  
on the dot. Sam's swiss cheesed memory tormented him. He  
  
knew that those two numbers had Biblical significance, but  
  
for the life of him, he could not remember what....  
  
"Hey Papa John," Starkweather's voice burst into his  
  
thoughts. "You good to go?" Because of the earpiece, her  
  
voice sounded tinny.  
  
Sam leaned casually on his steering wheel, as if he was  
  
waiting for someone, when actually he was looking across  
  
the street and the Lone Gunmenmobile, which was posing as a  
  
touristy T-shirt vending booth.  
  
"Locked, loaded and ready to go," Sam told her although he  
  
was privately thinking Al! Where the hell are you???  
  
"Are you sure you guys are secure selling shirts?" Sam  
  
asked nervously. The last thing they needed was for his  
  
crew to be busted for selling without a license.  
  
Langly broke in. "It's all good, man, we do this in our  
  
spare time. The shirts are no big deal, Byers likes to tie-  
  
dye stuff, so we buy Rit dyes and white shirts and let  
  
Byers go to town and when the Net is slow or the servers  
  
are down, we hock his shit. We've got a permit and  
  
everything and we even make a coupla bucks off of it."  
  
"Want me to save you a shirt, Doggett?" Starkweather asked  
  
dryly. "They are truly works of art."  
  
"No thank you." Sam assured her as he looked at his watch  
  
again. Three-twenty-six... he felt the fluttering wings of  
  
butterflies doing aerobatics in his stomach. He worried not  
  
only of the very real danger that lay ahead, but of Scully.  
  
What else happened last night? Was she alright? Was she  
  
safe? Did she get to see Mulder?  
  
But he dared not to call her... Time was too precious  
  
now... Sam checked his watch again... Three twenty-seven...  
  
Time was very precious now.  
  
Justin Leo walked down the hallway, comforted by the  
  
dimnessness before the sunrise. He quietly counted the  
  
number of doors before finding Ben and Jeri's apartment. He  
  
jimmied the lock quite easily and let himself in, not  
  
knowing that if he didn't shut the door all that tightly,  
  
the cat liked to pry it open with his paw and sneak out.  
  
Leo cocked his weapon and stole through the living room and  
  
down the hallway. He poked his head into the bedroom, the  
  
office, the bathroom. No Jerilyn. "Dammit," he muttered.  
  
Well, he would just have to wait for her to come back, he  
  
supposed.  
  
He worried about the other errands for Marita Covarrubias  
  
had demanded of him. Getting the serum and the information  
  
to that thing which was once a compassionate human being,  
  
now only a lethal drone that Leo could not even comprehend.  
  
He felt himself start to panic because he didn't know where  
  
Agent Starkweather was. Marita had demanded that  
  
Starkweather be neutralized first: "Agent Starkweather is a  
  
problem we need solved. Now. Tonight." She had said before  
  
handing him the gun and picture of her. It had to be done  
  
right. It had to be completed before dawn. Leo watched the  
  
living room slowly brighten as he clasped the weapon in his  
  
hand, oblivious to the cat sneaking out the door. Leo was  
  
lost in his own thoughts for the photo album was open to  
  
the page Ben had shown Jerilyn when he had first suspected  
  
a connection between her and the Deputy Mayor.  
  
Leo picked up the album for a better look. As he lifted the  
  
heavy book, he noticed a silver antique locket lying on the  
  
coffee table. He picked it up and opened it, looked at the  
  
picture of the woman and child together. After stuffing the  
  
locket in his pocket, he then took the picture out of the  
  
album. Looked at the long dark hair and the catty greeny-  
  
gold eyes and felt bile bubbling up his throat. He didn't  
  
understand. Lilly was blonde with grey eyes. But this  
  
burnette with hazel eyes had her face and her smile and her  
  
body... Leo's eyes were drawn towards the mantle. At a  
  
tastefully framed five by seven photograph of someone's  
  
wedding. Leo got up to examine the two-dimension image of  
  
Benjamin Starkweather in a rented black tux, smiling  
  
broadly for all to see and of Lilly, with her hair now  
  
blond like he remembered and softly curled, clinging to her  
  
groom in a simple white gown and in lieu of a veil, a halo  
  
of creamy pink roses and baby's breath sat onto of her head  
  
like a forest nymph's crown.  
  
The sickness left Leo, replaced by a rage and a hurt that  
  
threatened to over take what was left of his control.  
  
Lilly, alive after all these years. Lilly, disappeared at  
  
the tender age of eighteen to reappear ten years later as  
  
this almost legendary bitter, bitchy fed. Lilly, married to  
  
another man, fucking another man.... Leo's lips pulled  
  
together in a thin tight line, clenching the gun in his  
  
hands. He looked too and hard for Lilly, Benjamin  
  
Starkweather was not going to corrupt her anymore. Leo  
  
already decided that Lilly was not going to die. Not today.  
  
He'd wait for her to come and he'd warn her and take her  
  
away. But the minute that Mulder was at the mercy of the  
  
replicant-slave, Ben too, would breathe his last...  
  
It never even crossed his mind once that Starkweather was  
  
not Lilly, would never be Lilly, but was the key to finding  
  
Lilly. He was what Scully had always privately feared  
  
Mulder would become if she had not been there to keep him  
  
honest. Completely, totally, irrationally obsessed...  
  
Caesar the Cat had succeded in getting out of the apartment  
  
and had decided to take a nap in the doorway of Officer  
  
Sarah Johnson's doorway, who had just gotten home from a  
  
twelve hour overnight shift. Her bleary eyes blinked a few  
  
times when she noticed the cat. "I don't have a cat," she  
  
mumbled as she stooped down to examine the tag. "Oh... it's  
  
you Caesar," she groaned, picked the cat up. "Playing  
  
Houdini again, I see," she crossed down the hall to return  
  
the cat.  
  
She noticed the door was opened, just enough for the sly  
  
feline to slip out. Officer Johnson heard the sound of  
  
weeping coming from inside. Under the circumstances,  
  
normally, she would not have put the cat down and drawn her  
  
gun because she had heard all about sensationalistic way  
  
the unfortunate Mrs. Starkweather become a widow.  
  
**But it was the sound of a MAN crying** Johnson crept up  
  
to the door, tapping on it. "Mrs. Starkweather?" she said  
  
cautiously.  
  
Leo was so beside himself he didn't hear the cop's voice.  
  
The cop slid through the kitchen and peered around the  
  
corner, looking into the living room. She saw the stranger,  
  
sobbing his heart out, his hand on the Starkweathers'  
  
wedding picture, his other hand, clutching a loaded gun.  
  
She swung out of her hiding place, pointing her service  
  
revolver at him. "Drop the weapon, immediately!" she  
  
ordered.  
  
Leo jumped and fired at the cop, hitting her in the  
  
shoulder. Johnson went down, but not before she fired at  
  
him, getting his upper arm.  
  
Leo unwittingly changed history, not by going through the  
  
front door and collapsing for Johnson to nab, like Al had  
  
told Sam what would happen... but instead he staggered  
  
through the apartment, blood staining the carpets forever,  
  
into the Starkweathers' bedroom and out to their balcony  
  
and down the fire escape...  
  
Johnson crawled towards a phone.  
  
The female EMT interrupted Skinner and Scully in mid  
  
conversation. "Ma'am, all vitals are normal. The wound  
  
seems to be superficial. Is there any pain?" When Scully  
  
shook her head, the EMT continued. "Looks like you're set  
  
then. I'll just need you to sign these release forms since  
  
you're acting as your own physician, and you'll be on your  
  
way."  
  
Scully nodded a thank you as Skinner approached.  
  
"Yet another blazer ruined..." She sighed regretfully. "And  
  
I got this one at a really great sale..."  
  
"Scully, care to fill me in? What the hell happened?"  
  
"In my professional opinion?"  
  
Skinner simply nodded.  
  
"I honestly don't know what to think...I know  
  
Marita is connected with all this. I came here with damning  
  
evidence on Mulder's defense attorney who was connected to  
  
this address. She caught me off gaurd, Justin Leo came out  
  
of hiding, and looked like he saw a ghost. He was acting  
  
and looking as though he was on some sort of hallucenogenic  
  
drug. Then Marita ordered him to finish his 'job' and she  
  
shot me, and that's the last I knew."  
  
"Scully, you go home and take care of Will, I'm going to  
  
follow this up."  
  
"Sir," Scully insisted with a sigh, "with all due respect I  
  
can't just take a back seat in all this. I found a  
  
connection between the Syndicate and Agent Starkweather  
  
involving Mulder's father and Starkweather's adoptive  
  
father yesterday, and after what I saw tonight, I think  
  
Leo's involved with this somehow..."  
  
"Scully, I'm not going to allow you to put your life in  
  
danger anymore over this matter." Skinner scolded, "I know  
  
you wanna help Mulder, but we have plenty of manpower right  
  
now to put out a hunt for Leo. Catching Leo is not going to  
  
be an issue." Skinner began slowly.  
  
"Then what is the issue, Sir?" Scully demanded.  
  
"Point blank, Scully, Billy Miles is being sent to kill  
  
him." Her boss said matter-of-factly. "He's being sent to  
  
his cell tomorrow afternoon..." Scully's eyes widened as he  
  
spoke, "that's why he had been in the county jail instead  
  
of the state penetentiary after his trial...that's why..."  
  
he couldn't even finish.  
  
"That's why he was set up?" Scully outraged, "To be baited?  
  
If that's all, Sir, I've got...oh my God...Starkweather..."  
  
"I still don't see how Starkweather fits into this equation  
  
at all, Scully." Skinner persisted.  
  
"Scully," Skinner began, "just make sure all your ducks are  
  
in a row. If Leo gets away...Mulder doesn't stand a chance.  
  
Remember...he's a trained lawyer, he'd take legal loopholes  
  
and make them into your noose."  
  
"You don't have to worry about that, Sir." Just then, she  
  
looked down and saw the trail of blood going out the  
  
balcony. "Sir...I've got to go...I'll call you back when I  
  
know anything." She didn't wait for his goodbye as she  
  
looked down and saw the trail of blood.  
  
"We need a SWAT team out here NOW! Officer possibly down--  
  
Yes, I'm the agent you just sent a team out for--  
  
Poss...possibly down because I know an officer lived--  
  
*lives* here and there is a pool of blood in the living  
  
area and a trail of blood leading out to the bal--" as she  
  
barked orders into the phone, she followed the trail out to  
  
the balcony, as she saw the window ledge painted with dried  
  
blood, and looked down below, she froze. Justin Leo, having  
  
passed out in the bushes momentarily from loss of blood,  
  
was just beginning to weave through the shadows. Detecting  
  
his movement below, Scully changed her plan. "Call ya right  
  
back..." she said, and pocketed her phone. Then, she made a  
  
lightening-quick decision on her easiest way down.  
  
"Mulder, you owe me a new outfit." She mumbled kicking off  
  
her pumps and slipping out of her stockings so she could  
  
scale the drainpipe in hot persuit without a slip, and  
  
sticking her clipper inside her skirt, she got her footing.  
  
High on adrenaline, Leo bolted away from the apartment  
  
complex as soon as he spied a petite form clinging to the  
  
drainpipes, his ambedexterity helped him to aim at the  
  
movement on the pipes who was slowly making her way down.  
  
Since they were both moving targets, Scully only flinched  
  
at the sound of the firing.  
  
"I'mcomingLilynotmuchlongernowbabyI'malmostthereLilyjustg  
  
ottamakeittothecarLily" he half-mumbled, half-growled  
  
incoherently as he sprinted down the sidewalk.  
  
Scully wasn't far behind him. She whinced as the gravel  
  
bore into her feet, but in the moment of the persuit, it  
  
wasn't consequencial.  
  
She pulled her gun out from underneath the elastic in her  
  
belt.  
  
"STOP YOU'RE UNDER ARREST FOR THE MURDER OF BEN AND JERILYN  
  
STARKWEATHER YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT ANYTHING  
  
YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU IN A COURT OF LAW  
  
YOU HAVE THE RIGHT--!" She barked, aiming her gun. When he  
  
got to the apartment-complex parkinglot, she realized where  
  
he was headed. "Oh no you don't..." she mumbled, and  
  
changed direction, going to her own car.  
  
Frantically, she pulled out her cellphone as her engine  
  
revved up, she dialed Doggett's cell. No answer. "Come on,  
  
come on, pick up!" She coaxed as she tore out of the  
  
parkinglot, she dialed Starkweather's cell, carefully  
  
snaking in and out of traffic as fast as she could, gaining  
  
steadily on her target. "Dammit!" she hissed when  
  
Starkweather didn't respond. Thankfully, it was light  
  
traffic, and Leo was leading her to an evidently  
  
residential area by the Patomac River. Racing after Leo,  
  
she then dialed Skinner, "Sir, I'm nearing a neighborhood  
  
called Patomac Court in persuit of Justin Leo, he is armed  
  
and may still be under the influence. We appear to be  
  
stopped at some sort of warehouse. No sir, it's not  
  
marked...I cant' tell you which one," Scully said crouching  
  
under the dash.  
  
"LILY!! LILY!" Leo was screaming, his pistol had clunked  
  
on the gravel, and he was now furiously pounding fists  
  
rattling the sheetmettle, making the warehouse door sound  
  
like falling rain.  
  
Scully took this opportunity to make her arrest. Slowly and  
  
as soundlessly as possible, she opened her door. She  
  
grabbed her gun in the seat next to her and grabbed a set  
  
of hand-cuffs.  
  
"JUSTIN LEO!" She shouted, aiming her gun at the man for  
  
the second time that night, "YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR THE  
  
MURDERS OF BENJAMIN AND JERILYN STARKWEATHER AND AIDING AND  
  
abetting to the pending murder of Deputy Mayor F. William  
  
Mulder," now the cuffs slapped and clicked shut. He was  
  
red-faced and swollen now from hysterics. "You have the  
  
right to remain silent," Which the suspect did, save for  
  
quaking sobs, "anything you say can and will be used  
  
against you in a court of law. You have the right to an  
  
attorney, if you can't affoard an attorney the court will  
  
appoint you one. Do you --"  
  
Scully stopped in mid-sentence, the door had been pounded  
  
open and cries for help from an apparently gagged mouth  
  
could be heard towards the back.  
  
"Who the hell have you got in there?" She demanded her  
  
prisoner. "Jimmy Hoffa?" She cuffed the other end of the  
  
links to her own wrist and led him through the stacks of  
  
boxes back to where the muffled cries were coming from.  
  
There was a locked room in the back, "Stand back, sir!" she  
  
commanded, "I'm going to shoot the door down, we're getting  
  
you out of here!"  
  
With a bang, the lock blew open, and there sat Ben, bound  
  
and gagged in a huddle on the floor. She didn't have the  
  
heart to correct the charges against Leo in front of her  
  
husband and hastily, albeit unmercifully, yanked the duct  
  
tape from his mouth. She then took a peice of glass on the  
  
floor and cut the tape binding his feet, followed by his  
  
hands.  
  
"Agent Scully...I..." Ben began.  
  
"Just get in the car," she said as they headed out the  
  
door. Leo had just been uncuffed and forced into the back  
  
seat when the same black sedan she had seen earlier  
  
screeched to a hault behind her own car, sending dust and  
  
gravell flying.  
  
"Agent Scully," a familiar old voice cracked as a tall  
  
figure emerged from the car, "I wouldn't fire if I were  
  
you. Kill me and you kill Mulder. Kill them all." Two more  
  
goons emerged, both aiming thier own weapons. "I'm the only  
  
one who can stop it." Now it was Scully's turn to surrender  
  
her weapon to the gravel. She heard Ben whince in pain and  
  
then fall limp, and saw them toss him unceremoniously into  
  
the backseat.  
  
"The agent?" one of them asked.  
  
"She will be of use to us later. Without her prisoner, her  
  
proof, or her partner she will comply. Without her husband,  
  
Widow Starkweather will comply to our demands as well. For  
  
now, leave her be." The man commanded softly as he puffed  
  
his cigarette.  
  
Having just gotten his orders from the men who assailed  
  
Ben, Justin Leo knew his task, and tore out of the  
  
parkinglot in Scully's car.  
  
The three men climbed into the sedan, and sped off in the  
  
opposite direction. Needing to hold her son just then, she  
  
dialed her boss's cellphone, knowing he could give her a  
  
lift home.  
  
With quiet heaviness, she barely waited for Skinner to  
  
reply. "Sir, I've lost them..."  
  
"The Gunmen covertly received blood samples from Mulder and  
  
Agent Starkweather that showed a good match. From  
  
everything I've found in the last two days, Starkweather IS  
  
the connection..."  
  
"Scully, I think you need to talk to more adults than the  
  
Gunmen and Mulder." Skinner finished.  
  
"Don't you get it? Sir...Leo's target is Starkweather."  
  
Skinner sighed defeatedly and pulled his cell phone out of  
  
his pocket. "I need an APB out to the residence of Agent  
  
Jerilyn Starkweather. 1121 Spotnitz St, 48 Constitution  
  
Plaza Apartments to apprehend suspect Justin Leo. He is  
  
considered to be armed and dangerous, possibly under the  
  
influence of a hallucinogenic drug, male, 33..."  
  
He wanted to fit more of the case together, he still wanted  
  
to know where the proof was that Starkweather, Leo, and  
  
Mulder were all connected, but while he was busy giving out  
  
an APB, Scully had aparently taken her leave.  
  
"Sir," Skinner nodded in the general direction of his voice  
  
as he climbed into the car, "They came up empty in the  
  
trashcans except a pack of cigarettes and several butts."  
  
"What brand?"  
  
"Morleys." The agent answered quizzically.  
  
"Tell your men to clear out, we've collected all the  
  
evidence necessary." Then he dialed Scully's number.  
  
"Scully," he said not waiting for a greeting, "he's  
  
back...I dunno how but Spender is back and there's a direct  
  
connection this time with her and Marita Covarubias."  
  
"Sir, I'm at the Starkweather's looking for more evidence."  
  
"I know Ben smoked Morleys..." Skinner began.  
  
"No...there's a fresh one in the ashtray that hasn't been  
  
smoked yet. He's leaving us a trail..."  
  
"One question I've got is what use does he have to keep Ben  
  
alive?"  
  
"I think I just found it sir..." Scully said as her eyes  
  
fell on the open scrapbook and Mulder's picture alongside a  
  
freshly smouldered Morley propped on an ashtray.  
  
On the way there, Scully recounted what had happened, and  
  
everything she had found in her investigation. She also  
  
knew that as long as Mulder and Starkweather were both  
  
alive, then Ben Starkweather would still be living.  
  
Although the Syndicate apparently gained the upperhand  
  
during her run-in at the warehouse, what CSM had to say  
  
about Jerilyn still being alive gave her hope.  
  
"Agent Reyes, I can't thank you enough for all your help."  
  
Scully said when she finally made it to her apartment.  
  
"Agent Scully," Reyes replied with a thin smile, "I wish I  
  
could do more than babysit to help you out. Hopefully Agent  
  
Starkweather and I can have a more formal introduction "  
  
"Just call if you need anything." Scully said as Reyes took  
  
her leave.  
  
"Scully," Skinner began cautiously, once they were alone in  
  
her apartment, "I want to help you, Mulder, and Will as  
  
much as my position permits, but I can't do that until you  
  
tell me what's going on."  
  
"Sir," Scully replied a little more harshly than she  
  
intended, "if what you say is true about Billy Miles, then  
  
I don't think the President of the United States can help  
  
us."  
  
"If we get to the men who have Billy Miles under control,"  
  
Skinner argued, "then we can get to Mulder and Starkweather  
  
in time. All I need from you is the information you have on  
  
Justin Leo. If I can track him down, or at least the people  
  
who have him under control, then there is a good chance we  
  
can protect both Mulder and Starkweather."  
  
"Sir, with all due respect...as much as I appreciate your  
  
concern, I doubt seriously that tracking down Leo will lead  
  
to any kind of results except putting you at risk!" She  
  
hissed, careful not to wake Will.  
  
"Scully, if what you say is true about the link between  
  
Mulder and Starkweather, then it is reasonable to assume  
  
that everyone--Will, you, The Gunmen, and me--are at risk  
  
for their exposure to the truth. Besides, in my profession,  
  
I'm at risk every day of my life. All of us in this  
  
business are."  
  
"There's a difference between putting your life on the line  
  
and being stupid. With all due respect sir, I think this  
  
borders a little on the stupid side. I can't let you go out  
  
there with no back-up."  
  
"Scully," Skinner's tone was quiet and firm, "For now,  
  
there's nothing you can do but wait. I made a promise to  
  
both of you a long time ago to do what I could to protect  
  
that division. Don't ask me to break it now. Not after all  
  
we've seen. Now...we can do this the long way or the  
  
shortcut around. Either give me the address, or I will get  
  
it myself through other sources."  
  
With a heavy sigh, she handed him the notes she had taken  
  
on the evidence she had found on the man who instigated the  
  
situation at hand.  
  
"Let me know what you find out as soon as you can."  
  
"Get some sleep, Scully...you look exhausted."  
  
"You forget sir," Scully said with a wan girn, "I got less  
  
sleep before I took maternity leave being Mulder's  
  
partner...Will's less demanding."  
  
"I'll call when I can." Skinner said and turned and left,  
  
determined to get to the bottom of the pending fiasco.  
  
Skinner made his way as quickly as he could to Leo's  
  
address. He doubted the same things Scully had, but at the  
  
same time, he couldn't just sit idly by and let everything  
  
slip out of his hands. Leo's obsessed mindset had not  
  
allowed for simple cautions, such as making sure the door  
  
was locked.  
  
He found the house exactly as it's inhabitant had left it,  
  
with a bullitin board and stacks of files that were all  
  
abduction related. He went thumbed through them and found  
  
annonymous correspondence dating back from two years ago  
  
giving little tasks, such as stopping environmental case  
  
lawsuits from getting to a judge, or hampering with  
  
evidence on fraud charges.  
  
He logged on, guessed the password of an obsessed man easily,  
  
and found his way through his internet history to abductee  
  
chatrooms.  
  
"These days," an old voice cracked out of the darkness,  
  
"You don't need to wish to be a fly in the wall. These  
  
little cameras make everything quite clear."  
  
"You had this residence monitored?" Skinner growled.  
  
"Of course. We had to. It is necessary sometimes to make  
  
sure an associate of ours stays on track, completes his  
  
task."  
  
"Where is Billy Miles?" He fumed.  
  
"That, I don't know. I wanted to employ that killing  
  
machine as protection against the coming invasion. I have  
  
every intention of keeping all those involved alive until  
  
they are of no use. There is another party involved here,  
  
and I'm afraid it is not my decision to make."  
  
"What isn't your decision to make?"  
  
"Whether or not we use the replicant."  
  
"Like hell it isn't." Skinner barked back.  
  
"Assistant Director, you stopped cooperating with us years  
  
ago. I know what happened to Alex Krycek. My associates and  
  
I can easily make things look so much worse than they  
  
actually are. It would be ashame to see such a  
  
distinguished career and a man's freedom go up in flames  
  
over one cause. I am not an unreasonable man. You know that  
  
I am a very powerful friend to have."  
  
"Are you trying to cut me a deal?"  
  
"Precisely. Obviously a monster running amok in the streets  
  
of our Nation's Capitol after a local hero would not bode  
  
well for the FBI. Stop Doggett's investigation into Kersh's  
  
office, and I will hand over the serum that controls the  
  
alien."  
  
"Why the hell should I take credence in any promises or  
  
bargains you make?" Skinner demanded.  
  
"People make bargains with the devil every day, Mr.  
  
Skinner. Either way, your career will be up in smoke once  
  
Agents Doggett and Reyes begin their investigation. You  
  
really have no choice but to comply."  
  
"Where's the serum?"  
  
3:45 PM Eastern Standard Time  
  
County Jail  
  
Sam stepped into the guard's desk, "I have an appointment  
  
to see the warden at four," Sam spoke with a calm he did  
  
not feel.  
  
Frohike was talking in his ear. "You're all good buddy,  
  
Langly's already in the system, Barney Fife there should be  
  
pulling up the fake appointment..."  
  
"Special Agent Frank Black?" the guard asked. Sam nodded  
  
and flased the fake ID Langly whipped up for him.  
  
"Alrighty, have a seat." The guard waved him over to a  
  
chair.  
  
After Sam sat and pretended to peruse his notes,  
  
Starkweather walked in, wearing Byers' baggy dress slacks,  
  
white dress shirt, hanging loosing over her tank top along  
  
with Byers's suit jacket. She carried a big black purse  
  
over her shoulder. She was sipping from a gargantuan mug  
  
from some gas station.  
  
The guard looked up to see the mannishly dressed woman with  
  
the Princess Leia hair-do. "Can I help you?" he asked  
  
wearily. His day was almost over. The night crew would be  
  
there to relieve him in 25 minutes, he couldn't wait. He  
  
did not feel like dealing with this she-man.  
  
"I'm Diana Fowley, from INS," said Starkweather, holding up  
  
her fake ID. "I'm here to see Manuel Diego Ibarra."  
  
The guard checked his computer. "Ibarra don't have any  
  
appointments today."  
  
Starkweather flipped the bitch switch from off to on. "What  
  
do you mean, no appointments?" she seethed. "There was set  
  
up two weeks ago. By the Assistant DA."  
  
"Well... I suppose I could... I mean... it's just that it's  
  
getting close to the inmates suppertimes... if Ibarra don't  
  
eat with the rest, he don't eat at all and inmates get  
  
kinda cranky when they don't get to eat an-"  
  
"You think I care about Ibarra's dietary habits?"  
  
Starkweather snarled as she set the mug down on the desk  
  
with a slam. She dug in her pockets and pulled out a sugar  
  
packet. She put the packet in her mouth and opened the lid  
  
of the mug. Steam from her hot tea came out in wispy  
  
tendrils. "All I care about is getting my questions  
  
answered and then tossing his illegal ass back to El Mexico  
  
where it belongs."  
  
Just as Starkweather made that very uncharacteristic  
  
derogatory remark, Frohike said to Doggett. "We've got you  
  
bumped to twenty-five minutes. It's go time, we're in.  
  
Clock's ticking, Puppy-Man."  
  
Sam got up from his seat, confident in the knowledge that  
  
the Lone Gunmen had control of the jail's survalliance and  
  
security. "Excuse me, miss?"  
  
"WHAT??" she snapped.  
  
"I hate to interupt, but do you have the time?"  
  
Starkweather picked up the mug and threw it's boiling  
  
contents all over the guard. As the guard covered his face  
  
in real pain, Starkweather took the syringe out of her  
  
purse, already loaded with an incredibly powerful drug  
  
called Verstat. "Here's the mickey of all time, buddy-boy,"  
  
Starkweather said while Sam pinned the guard's arms,  
  
Starkweather ripped apart the man's sleeve and jabbed him  
  
with the needle. "Beautiful," she murmurred as she pushed  
  
the plunger.  
  
"Verestat is a lovely, lovely drug. You feel everything,  
  
you see everything, you hear everything, but you will  
  
forget everything." Sam punched the burned man, knocking  
  
him unconscious. Starkweather was already pushing through  
  
the doors. "Alright guys, lets go get Big Brother...  
  
Frohike... FROHIKE!!!" She pushed the ear piece into her  
  
ear better. "You're breaking up. What are you saying?"  
  
"I'm saying get your asses in gear. Billy Miles is in the  
  
building."  
  
"WHAT?!" Sam cried out! Can't anything in this damned  
  
leap go right??? Sam didn't know that when Leo got away  
  
from the police officer, history changed again and Mulder  
  
was killed at four, not five. He checked his watch. 3:52.  
  
Starkweather took her little Beretta out of her ankle  
  
holster and her service weapon out of her pants. "Holy  
  
jumping Aloysious God," she groaned. "Cover me,"  
  
Starkweather pushed through the doors, Sam, both guns out  
  
as well, followed, running down the stairs to the  
  
basements, where they could already hear screams of terror  
  
welling up from below.  
  
The guard felt eyes on his back. He turned around and saw a  
  
lanky man with dark brown hair and brooding eyes. "Hey," he  
  
said, friendly-like, but nonchalantly moving his hands to  
  
his MACE. After all, the guy was unarmed. "Are you lost?  
  
You're not supposed to be here without an-"  
  
A wailing scream echoed throughout the cell block. Mulder  
  
lifted his head up. "Oh damn," he muttered.  
  
Soon, amongst the screams were cries of "Get me the fuck  
  
OUTTA here!!" "It's a monster!! For the love of GOD GET US  
  
OUT!!!" "HEELLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!"  
  
"What is goin' on out there?" Manny said as he got up from  
  
his bunk and went to the bars just in time to see the  
  
guard's head bouncing along on the floor and land directly  
  
paralell to Manny's feet, his sightless eyes staring up at  
  
him, his speechless tongue lolling.  
  
"GUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARR  
  
D!!" Manny hollered, backing away from the bars.  
  
Billy Miles kicked the decapitated head aside like a soccer  
  
ball and stared at Mulder dispassionately.  
  
"Hiya, Billy," Mulder said, not moving, hoping that maybe  
  
there might be a shred of the real Billy Miles left in that  
  
shell of a man. "What's up?"  
  
Billy grabbed a steel bar and started to twist it.... 


	9. The Long Way Home

Starkweather and Sam heard the pandemonium as they raced  
  
down the stairs. "Two more flights to go..." Sam panted.  
  
"HURRY THE FUCK UP!!!" Frohike was screaming, "ITS AT  
  
MULDER'S CELL!"  
  
Starkweather, as she ran down the stairs, shoved the guns  
  
in the back of her pants, grabbed the railing, vaulted over  
  
the rails and landed solidly onto the next flight of stairs  
  
going down.  
  
"STARKWEATHER!!! COME BACK!!!" Sam yelled uselessly as he  
  
ran after her.  
  
She did that trick again on the next set of stairs and  
  
found herself on Cell Block B. She pulled her guns out and  
  
saw Billy Miles pulling the bars away like string cheese.  
  
Over the din of male prisoners she raised her female voice:  
  
"HEY! BILLY BOY!!!!"  
  
Billy stopped his chore and looked straight at her. He  
  
abandoned the bars and walked straight for her.  
  
"Bring it on," she said before she started firing.  
  
Starkweather emptied her clip of her service weapon into  
  
Billy Miles' face. Blood, flesh and skull splattered the  
  
walls and bars of the cell block. Headless, the arms  
  
reached out for her while the body still walked towards  
  
her.  
  
"You're supposed to STOP after I shoot you! What part of  
  
DEAD don't you understand?" she cried as the creature kept  
  
coming forward. She whipped out the Beretta and fired into  
  
his chest, his crotch, his gut and his knees. The thing  
  
flopped over and wriggled its way towards her, flopping  
  
around like a fish out of water.  
  
"MULDER!!" she called out as she kicked at the gory mess  
  
still crawling reaching for her. "Ew ew ew," she said as  
  
she kicked away a reaching hand and quickly stepped over  
  
the dead/alive remains. She reached into her purse that she  
  
still carried and pulled out two clips and reloaded both  
  
weapons, walking backwards, looking for Mulder's cell,  
  
waiting for Doggett and watching the soggy heap of body  
  
part slowly swing itself around and start pulling itself in  
  
her direction again. "Mulder, where are you?"  
  
"Over here!" Mulder stuck an arm out of his cell. "The one  
  
where the bars are pulled away."  
  
Starkweather back-pedalled to where Mulder was being held.  
  
Mulder took one look at her braided hairdo and quipped  
  
"Hello Your Worshipfullness."  
  
Starkweather was examining the bent bars. "Han Solo you're  
  
not... my God... that thing did this?? Jesus..." she tried  
  
pulling on the bar and the bent iron bar defied her,  
  
staying stubbornly bent. She took out the skelton key that  
  
Byers fashioned for her to open the cell. "Shit... SHIT!!!!  
  
Byers!!!" she snapped into the headset. "YOUR KEY'S NOT  
  
WORKING!!"  
  
"Billy must have damaged the tumbler of the lock when he  
  
started to bend away at the bars," Byers' strained voice  
  
filled her ears.  
  
"I don't think we can get the cell door," Starkweather  
  
said, panicking a little. They had twelve minutes to get  
  
out of the jailblock before Frohike's window closed. "Can  
  
you slid through the bars?"  
  
Mulder tried, wedging his body through the bowed bars  
  
created by Billy. "Dammit," he said, "Billy has a more  
  
girlish figure than I."  
  
"Well, we wouldn't be having this problem if someone didn't  
  
sit on his ass all day and eat sunflower seeds." She  
  
grabbed his arm. "YOU! Back there, hiding under the bunk  
  
bed!" Manny, with a hang dog expression on his face,  
  
complied. "You push, I'll pull."  
  
"ARRCCKKK!!" Mulder said as his face was shoved past the  
  
bars. "Don't you have a better way of doing this?"  
  
"Sorry Pooh-bear," Starkweather snapped, "I'm fresh out of  
  
butter and I left my flame-thrower in Byers' other pants.  
  
PUSH!!"  
  
"We're not having a baby," Mulder grumbled as his torso was  
  
forced through the narrow space between the bars. "STOP  
  
STOP STOP I'M STUCK!!" he yelled out in pain when he was  
  
half-way out, his upper body, supported by Starkweather  
  
while Manny was trying to lift his legs up and out. Mulder  
  
looked down, "Starkweather..."  
  
Starkweather, burdened under Mulder's weight, looked down  
  
as well. "Oh damn," she sighed as she tried to kick away at  
  
Billy's body, only a few feet away from her.  
  
Sam made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt his  
  
stomach lurch at the sight of the moving dismembered Billy  
  
Miles slithering towards Starkweather. He could hear the  
  
inmates discussing pleasantly amongst themselves: "WHAT THE  
  
FUCK IS THAT THING!!! WHAT THE FUCK MAN!!!"  
  
Sam took out Doggett's gun and ran towards Starkweather,  
  
unloaded it into Billy's back, severing the back bone.  
  
Billy stopped moving.  
  
"Doggett!" Starkweather said, "help me," she started  
  
pulling on Mulder again. Sam came around to the other side  
  
of Mulder.  
  
"Hold on, his suit's stuck," Sam pulled on a wad of  
  
clothing that had become impaled on a piece of metal.  
  
"No time for that," Starkweather pulled a pocketknife out  
  
of her pocket and both anyone could freak out or protest,  
  
slit away at Mulder's jumpsuit. "Doggett, help me pull him  
  
out of his suit," she ordered as orange material fell away  
  
from Mulder. Together, Sam and Starkweahter pulled Mulder  
  
free, leaving him to stand in the cell block hallway in his  
  
skivvies.  
  
"Didn't know you were a whitie-tightie man," Starkweather  
  
deadpanned.  
  
"They took away my boxers."  
  
Manny, being far more slender than Mulder, hopped through  
  
the bars easily. "Let's get out of here."  
  
"Oh no," Starkweather pointed her gun at Manny. "Get your  
  
law-breaking ass back in that cell."  
  
"We can't leave him here," Mulder protested.  
  
"Mulder, I am already sticking my neck out for your sorry  
  
ass, I can probably kiss my job goodbye for freeing you, I  
  
am not going to add releasing a possible felon to my new  
  
rap sheet!"  
  
"Um, I just snuck into the county without a green card,"  
  
Manny interjected.  
  
"If we leave him here with no protection, he's going to get  
  
killed! We can't leave him you egotisical, self-righteous  
  
bitch!"  
  
"Guys," Frohike broke into their fight through Sam and  
  
Starkweather's earpieces, "You've got seven minutes to get  
  
out before the window closes."  
  
"BITCH!!!" She fumed. "Listen, you spineless, delusional,  
  
arrogant ASSHOLE, I wouldn't be in this situation if your  
  
monumental STUPIDITY on the oil righ hadn't gotten my  
  
husband sucked into this insani-"  
  
"Starkweather," Sam interrupted warily, pointing his gun  
  
down at Billy's remains.  
  
Starkweather looked down. Her eyes widened as Billy's body  
  
parts were slowly coming together. "You," she grabbed Manny  
  
by the collar of his jumpsuit and yanked him over to  
  
Doggett. "Go with him. You're with me, come on," she  
  
slapped her Beretta in Mulder's hand and pushed him towards  
  
the door...  
  
Starkweather pushed Mulder into the nearest restroom while  
  
Doggett and Manny kept running up the stairs. "What are you  
  
doing?" Mulder fumed.  
  
"Trust me," Starkweather said as she unloosened her tie.  
  
Meanwhile, Sam stopped Manny to slap handcuffs on him.  
  
Manny wailed "What are you doing???"  
  
"Trust me," Sam said gruffly.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
back at the County Jail...  
  
The Front Guard Room -  
  
The guard that Starkweather burned and drugged was slowly  
  
coming too. He looked up and saw the last thing he  
  
remembered, which was that FBI agent...Frank Black, looming  
  
over him. "It's okay, it's okay..." the agent was saying.  
  
The guard was suddenly aware that he was in acute pain. He  
  
tried to speak but his lips were burned.  
  
Sam-in-Doggett-posing-as-Agent-Frank-Black told him, "I've  
  
called the paramediacs. You were attacked, your burns are  
  
superficial but very painfull. I've caught the guy who came  
  
after you and I'm taking him to a pyscheatric facility.  
  
Meanwhile Manny was sitting on a bench, still handcuffed  
  
was wailing, "I didn't DO it!!!! I swear!!!!"  
  
Frohike told the agents through their earpieces, "Okay, the  
  
window's shut. Normal security and video survelliance is  
  
goin' on. Stay cool."  
  
Back down in the bathroom, Starkweather shrugged off the  
  
bulky black purse she was carrying. She stripped off the  
  
suit jacket, pants, dress blouse and tie she was wearing,  
  
leaving her in nothing but a skin-tight tank-top and the  
  
Lara Croft khakis shorts Langly had gotten her. "Get  
  
dressed," she ordered him as she pulled out a pair of black  
  
socks and shoes for Mulder. While Mulder dressed, she also  
  
took out a can of aerosol hair coloring used primarily  
  
during Halloween, a pair of glasses, spirit gum and a  
  
brown-fading-to-gray fake beard and moustache. Once Mulder  
  
was more or less dressed, she dabbed spirit gum on his face  
  
and applied the beard and moustache. Quickly she sprayed  
  
his hair with the coloring, streaking his brown hair with  
  
gray. "Put these on," she said, handing him the glasses as  
  
she crotched down again to put Mulder's disguise material  
  
back in her back and to take out her own camoflauge, a pair  
  
of stylish sunglasses Starkweather normally would never  
  
wear and a white hankerchief she folded quickly into a  
  
triangle. Quickly, she took the hairpins out one by one  
  
until the braids flopped down her back. She tied the  
  
hankerchief around her head and put the sunglasses on.  
  
Standing next to a suddenly aged-Mulder, she looked like  
  
his teenaged daughter. As she put her gun in her purse,  
  
Mulder asked "And how do you plan on getting past the metal  
  
detectors?"  
  
"Like, chill out dad," she said snidely. "Langly's gonna  
  
infect this place with a very obvious computer virus which  
  
is going to wreak hell on their system."  
  
"How?"  
  
"All the doors to the Cell Block B are going to open. The  
  
guards will be so busy, plus with the police that will be  
  
coming with the paramedics for the guard that I um...  
  
roughed up, they'll be so busy, they won't pay mind to us.  
  
Plus, while they're wondering why there's no footage of the  
  
guard being injured, they'll assume it's the same virus  
  
that caused the computer to think the cell block doors need  
  
to be opened."  
  
"You've thought of everything, haven't you?"  
  
Before Starkweather could snap back at him, Frohike told  
  
her, "Virus is in, get your asses out of there."  
  
Mulder and Starkweather could hear the slam of doors  
  
opening below. They crept out of the bathroom and as  
  
casually as possible, got onto the elevator to go above...  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
The upstairs was total bedlam. As the police sirens howled  
  
in the distance, Sam administered first aid while the  
  
minimal security staff ran around like chickens with their  
  
heads cut off trying to round up the prisoners who were  
  
suddenly free. Fortunately, only severe misdeamers and  
  
"special" cases like the Deputy Mayor were kept at the  
  
County, so there really wasn't much of a threat. Most of  
  
the criminals, after watching Billy rebuild himself, were  
  
far too terrified to move out of their cells.  
  
Sam quietly stole away, taking Manny with him. The Lone  
  
Gunmenmobile was parked right across the street next to a  
  
police paddy wagon. It was perfect, it appeared to  
  
onlookers that Sam-in-Doggett was leading a prisoner to be  
  
transferred to a different prison. Instead, the doors to  
  
the Gunmenmobile opened up and Sam tossed Manny inside  
  
before he hopped in. The Gunmenmobile stole away, driving  
  
to Starkweather's and Mulder's meeting point....  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Mulder couldn't believe it, he and his "daughter" were  
  
being personally escorted out by a police officer. When the  
  
elevator stopped at the first floor, it was total chaos.  
  
The cop didn't even look at him that closely, he just  
  
grabbed Mulder by the arm and said "Sir, you and your  
  
daughter need to evacuate immediately."  
  
And when the metal detector went off, the cop didn't even  
  
flinch, he just assumed it was his own weapons setting off  
  
the alarms.  
  
And Mulder and Starkweather hurried away from the crime  
  
scene virtually undetected. The van was waiting for them  
  
and they hopped into it's cramped security. It was too  
  
easy...  
  
Or it would have been, if Billy Miles hadn't seen them  
  
leave.  
  
Frohike was driving, Sam-in-Doggett was in the passenger  
  
seat. Crammed in the back, Langly was high-fiving everyone  
  
he could reach. Byers, Manny and Mulder were scootched in  
  
together on a bench, Starkweather was watching out the back  
  
window.  
  
"We DID it! We freakin' DID it MAN!!" Langly crowed.  
  
"Mulder, dude, can you believe this? You are totally a free  
  
man!"  
  
"I'm a man totally on the lamb you mean," Mulder corrected  
  
him dryly. "And what's with the bikes?" He rested his palms  
  
on Ben's Suzuki, which was leaning into his knees.  
  
"Well, the game plan is that we are going to go our  
  
separate ways and meet at the round-a-view point so we can  
  
start the search for Mr. Starkweather. As for your status,  
  
we plan on telling the authorities that you voluntarily  
  
surrendered to Agents Doggett and Starkweather and hence in  
  
federal custody." Byers informed him, "Once we find Mr.  
  
Starkweather, all charges SHOULD be dropped, isn't that  
  
correct, Mrs. Starkweather?"  
  
But Starkweather wasn't listening, she was watching too  
  
intently outside the window.  
  
"Mrs. Starkweather?"  
  
Meanwhile Sam was pondering Okay, we saved Mulder,  
  
shouldn't I have leapt by now? Or do I still need to rescue  
  
Ben? What if he's been killed? Am I trapped here then?  
  
His reverie was broken by Starkweather's voice. "Doggett.  
  
Frohike."  
  
"Yeah?" Sam and Frohike unintentionally said in unison.  
  
Starkweather pointed out the window. "He followed me home,  
  
can I keep him?"  
  
Frohike looked into his rearview mirror. "Shit," he  
  
muttered as he saw Billy Miles weaving in and out of cars  
  
in the heavy DC rush hour traffic. "Lock and load boys."  
  
"You guys carry guns now?" Mulder said incredulously. "I  
  
feel safer with Billy."  
  
"He means get wired up," Langly said as he hooked up his  
  
ear piece. "We might get separated faster than we thoug-."  
  
"FUCK ME!!!" Starkweather interrupted, pulling her gun out,  
  
"WHERE DID HE GO!!!"  
  
Then there was the sickening sound of a thud on the roof of  
  
the van. "Oh crap," Frohike said.  
  
"BRAKE BRAKE BRAKE!!!!" Starkweather screamed. "SLAM ON THE  
  
FUCKING BRAKES FROHIKE!!!"  
  
"Hang on!" Frohike stomped on the pedal and watched Billy  
  
go flying into the next car ahead. Then the car behind them  
  
rear-ended them and everyone went sprawling. Starkweather's  
  
gun went sailing out of her hands. Byers and Manny knocked  
  
heads. Mulder grabbed his knees in real pain after the  
  
bikes scraped past him. Sam gasped for breath as the seat  
  
belt choked him. Langly groped for the glasses that flew  
  
off his face and found Starkweather's gun instead. "Here,"  
  
he handed it Mulder. Mulder handed it off to Starkweather  
  
as she reached for it while asking  
  
"WHERE'D HE GO?"  
  
Billy just then lifted his mangled body off of the Volvo he  
  
landed on. As horns honked frantically, he leapt off the  
  
smushed car and onto the hood of the van.  
  
Sam looked death in the eyes and ducked just in time before  
  
Billy smashed the glass of the windshield in.  
  
Sam-in-Doggett, Frohike met up with Langly, Byers and Manny  
  
at the Lone Gunman's secret lair. "Where's Starkweather and  
  
Mulder?" Sam demanded as Langly, Byers and Manny got off of  
  
the sputtering moped.  
  
"We don't know," Byers said. "I could not hail them on the  
  
cell phone."  
  
"Oh God," Sam muttered as he dialled Starkweather's  
  
extension. "You guys," he said, pointed at the Lone Gunmen  
  
and Manny. "Get to work on figuring out where they might be  
  
keeping Ben. And for God sakes, somebody get a hold of  
  
Scully." That had been scaring him all day. He had not  
  
heard a peep from Scully all day.... or Al come to think of  
  
it.  
  
Why haven't I leapt yet? Sam wondered as Starkweather's  
  
cell rang. God, are we too late and Ben's dead? "Pick  
  
up," Sam said aloud, dreading the worst. "Pick up pick  
  
up...."  
  
********  
  
Starkweather couldn't even hear her own phone ringing, the  
  
roar of the construction trucks around deafened her  
  
completely. With Mulder clutching her for dear life, she  
  
used her husband's prized motorcycle as a Motor Cross dirt  
  
bike, whipping around road block signs as fast as she  
  
could. Billy was still gaining on them.  
  
Mulder, meanwhile, had Starkweather's long braids  
  
repeatedly hit him in the face over and over. At the speed  
  
they were going, the thick cables of hair stung his cheeks  
  
like bullwhips. He could hardly hold his head up. He could  
  
hear the honks from the annoyed drivers of the dump trucks  
  
and road graders trying to do their jobs.  
  
Mulder and Starkweather gained a moments advantage when a  
  
dump truck pulled right in front of Billy's truck that  
  
turned into an enormous fireball when the truck plowed  
  
right into it. Starkweather wheeled the bike around in a  
  
perfect one-eighty, throwing gravel everywhere. "Oh my  
  
God!" she cried out as the driver bailed out of the dump,  
  
on fire. His co-workers ran to his aid. "I've got to help  
  
that man," Starkweather started to get off the bike, but  
  
Mulder pushed her back down.  
  
"Starkweather, we've got to go."  
  
Starkweather turned and said ferociously to him, "Mulder  
  
you piece of sh*t, that man is injured and it's our fault.  
  
Besides, that thing could not have survived that!" She  
  
turned to point at the flaming trucks and gasped in horror.  
  
Inside the flames was a lean man, walking calming towards  
  
them. Like Shadrach in the furnace, Billy walked inside the  
  
roaring fires towards them, perfectly calm despite the face  
  
that his flesh was melting off his bones from the heat of  
  
the flames roasting his hair and clothes.  
  
"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!!" Starkweather wheeled the bike  
  
around and took off, without looking back. Mulder barely  
  
had a chance to grab onto her again, but he did manage to  
  
yell in her ear "TOLD YOU SO."  
  
"BITE ME-" Starkweather started to say but instead suddenly  
  
applied the breaks. The bike screeched and toppled over,  
  
sliding away. Mulder fell off and rolled but Starkweather  
  
held onto the handle bars, grimacing in pain as the road  
  
tore up her bare leg on the outside and the muffler burning  
  
the same leg on the inside. Despite the agonizing pain, she  
  
clung to the bike so it wouldn't go over the edge of the  
  
bridge that the road crew was working to hard to repair.  
  
Bruised, but not broken and on the first adrenline high  
  
since he left the X-Files, Mulder picked himself up and ran  
  
to Starkweather and helped her pulled up bike up and parked  
  
it safely on the edge. He then examined her wounds. Tears  
  
stood in her eyes but did not brim over. Through clenched  
  
teeth, she told him. "I'm fine." Her leg on the side that  
  
the road was completely scraped up, bits of glass and  
  
gravel lodged into her skin. That same leg had a huge burn  
  
mark on the inside of her calf where the muffler had landed  
  
on.  
  
Mulder helped her up. Starkweather tried to stand but her  
  
knee buckled. She collapsed against him. Mulder supported  
  
her by her elbows. He looked towards the billowing smoke  
  
from the fire and said. "Damn."  
  
"What?" Starkweather turned her head. "DAMMIT!!!" she  
  
screamed at Billy approaching them in the distance, skin  
  
completely burned away, hair still on fire. "DIE!!!"  
  
Mulder picked Starkweather and put her on the motorcycle.  
  
He got on and revved up the engine. She wrapped her arms  
  
around his waist. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Hang on, close your eyes and pray," Mulder said as he spun  
  
the bike around, driving towards Billy.  
  
Starkweather squeezed her eyes tightly shut as Mulder got  
  
some distance from the edge of the broken bridge.  
  
Meanwhile, Mulder was doing some quick math in his head.  
  
The gap between the ends of the bridge that is being  
  
repaired is only about the length of a city block, so I  
  
need to get at least twice the length of that away and have  
  
to hit well over 100 mph to ramp it... oh God... Less  
  
than fifteen feet from Billy, Mulder swerved around and  
  
started back towards the bridge, speeding up. Starkweather,  
  
eyes still closed, heard the engine continually shifting  
  
gears, tightened her arm around Mulder's waist even more  
  
and buried her face into his back. Billy started to run  
  
after them, unbelievably almost keeping up with the  
  
Suzuki...  
  
The edge loomed. Mulder gunned the engine and pulled up on  
  
the handlebars and the motorcycle was airborne.  
  
  
  
Less than fifteen feet from Billy, Mulder swerved around  
  
and started back towards the bridge, speeding up.  
  
Starkweather, eyes still closed, heard the engine  
  
continually shifting gears, tightened her arm around  
  
Mulder's waist even more and buried her face into his back.  
  
Billy started to run after them, unbelievably almost  
  
keeping up with the Suzuki...  
  
The edge loomed. Mulder gunned the engine and pulled up on  
  
the handle bars and the motorcycle was airborne. Actually,  
  
the gap in the bridge was only about seven feet but it was  
  
straight down to the mix-master right below, roaring with  
  
speeding vehicles. And seven feet is seven feet.  
  
Fortunately, at the speed Mulder was going, he ramped the  
  
gap quite easily and the two tires touched down on the  
  
other side. Mulder let off of the gas and the bike rolled  
  
to a stop. He wheeled it around again. Starkweather opened  
  
her eyes and peered around Mulder's body just in time to  
  
see Billy Miles jump off the edge of the bridge towards  
  
them, like Agent Smith in "The Matrix." The only different,  
  
Billy missing and went spiralling down into traffic where  
  
he was run over by a Pinto.  
  
Starkweather heaved a big sigh of relief. "I didn't know  
  
you could do stunts," she said.  
  
She didn't see Mulder's face which was stark white and  
  
beaded with nervous perspiration. "Neither did I," he  
  
mumbled as he started up the bike again and headed towards  
  
the Lone Gunmen hideaway.  
  
Meanwhile, at the Lone GunmenLair  
  
***********************  
  
Sam was having certain doubts about letting Frohike drive  
  
Doggett's truck back with Manny in tow, but Sam wasn't  
  
about to do the navigating, being unfamiliar with the DC  
  
area and needing desperately to get in touch with Scully or  
  
Skinner. After nearly missing a couple of cars and  
  
sideswiping a curb and putting a nice pole-shaped dent in  
  
the side of Doggett's F150, Sam neglected getting in touch  
  
with Skinner or Scully or any fo them till after they got  
  
to the lair...just in case final prayers suddenly became  
  
necessary. Manny next to him was more vocal about the  
  
situation, screaming choice Spanish explicatives. If they  
  
hadn't been so nervous about the situation at hand, both  
  
men would have kissed the ground when they finally arrived  
  
at the lair.  
  
"That's it, hombre...next time I'm drivin'." Manny  
  
declared.  
  
"Frohike," Sam began shakily with his face as white as a  
  
sheet once they finally got the lair, "Where did you get  
  
your lisence?"  
  
"We rigged one for him here, Doggett." Byers began  
  
apologetically, giving Frohike a dirty look.  
  
"Well you were gonna drive like an old lady, and we  
  
would've been stuck in ass-to-ass traffic jams and we  
  
would've been S.O.L. if it weren't for my skillfull  
  
offensive driving techniques."  
  
"Your skillfull offensive driving techniques almost made us  
  
tortillas!" Manny yelled. Then he turned to Byers and  
  
Langly, "any you guys got a phone I could use per favor?"  
  
To which Langly responded by opening a drawerful of  
  
wireless phones and cranking up about five of the desktops  
  
that weren't in use at the moment. "Take your pic, man."  
  
"Gracias." Manny said quietly, picked one from the drawer,  
  
and dialed. "Local call...I know people." Then he began  
  
rattling off a spanish conversation, pausing briefly for a  
  
response.  
  
"I understood mi amigo" Langley murmured  
  
"I heard Mulder in their somewhere I think."  
  
Sam, fluent in Spanish, would have been able to understand  
  
what he was saying very well, didn't hear any of the  
  
conversation because he was outside relaying what had  
  
happened to Skinner.  
  
"Guys, something on the squawker." Frohike said quietly,  
  
now frantically keying in the local news channell websites.  
  
"Trafficjam on the freeway."  
  
"WHAT THE FUCK JUST HIT ME?! WHAT THE FUCK JUST HIT ME?!" A  
  
trucker screamed across the CB waves.  
  
"That's our boy." Langly mumbled.  
  
"Oh shit!" A scratchy voice came over the police radio the  
  
gunmen had hooked up and turned on in their warehouse.  
  
"It's like outta that Terminator movie..."  
  
"I'm checking the CB." Byers informed his comrades, and  
  
began hooking it up, putting the headphones.  
  
"I hate to break to you buddy, but this ain't no movie." A  
  
female's voice scratched back. SWEET JESUS WHAT THE F*CK IS  
  
THAT?!"  
  
"There's a Suzuki...a blonde chick's drivin'...with some  
  
old guy...that Ford Truck's chasing it"  
  
"This can't be good." was Manny's grim prognosis.  
  
Frohike went back into a room and got out a bottle of Wild  
  
Turkey Burbon and downed a shot's worth.  
  
Just as Frohike pulled Doggett's sadly abused truck next to  
  
the Lone Gunmen lair, Starkweather and Mulder pulled into  
  
the lot, Mulder driving, Starkweather clinging to him like  
  
the toy clip-on koalas that were so popular in the early  
  
eighties. Both were white as ghosts.  
  
"Mulder!" Frohike cried out as he ambled out of the truck  
  
and scurried to him, Manny and Sam-in-Doggett following.  
  
Mulder lifted Starkweather off the bike, Starkweather  
  
wincing in pain, clenching her teeth. "Hide the  
  
motorcycle," he instructed to no one in particular. "About  
  
every cop in a twenty mile radius is looking for it right  
  
now." Frohike took the initiative and wheeled the bike  
  
inside the lair.  
  
Sam only had eyes for Starkweather at them moment. "What  
  
happened?" he said, urgency tinging his voice. Then he  
  
looked down at her leg and saw the massive abrasions. "Oh  
  
boy," Sam said in horror. "Starkweather...."  
  
"Mulder," Starkweather tugged on his sleeve. "You need to  
  
get inside. You're a fugitive now."  
  
"Been there, done that," Mulder muttered as he carried her  
  
inside, Sam and Manny following.  
  
Mulder began barking orders the minute Frohike locked the  
  
door. "Langly, find some clean, emphasize on CLEAN sheets  
  
and lay them across the table and a pillow. Byers, I need a  
  
pair of tweezers, cotton pads, ACE bandages and sterilizing  
  
solution: iodine, alcohol, hydrogen perioxide, anything  
  
that will kill the germs." After Frohike cleared a table  
  
with the sweep of his arm and Langly threw a sheet over it  
  
and positioned a pillow just so, Mulder put her down.  
  
Starkweather closed her eyes. "God knows, I've have Scully  
  
piece me back together enough times, I think I can handle  
  
this," Mulder said to Sam as he referred to her scrapes and  
  
contusions. "I don't know about this," he moved her injured  
  
leg just enough for Sam to see the blistering burn on the  
  
inside of her leg.  
  
"Oh my God," Sam said in horror. "Mulder, that's at least  
  
second-degree. We need to get her to a hospital."  
  
"Or at least a doctor," Mulder said. "Call Scully." When  
  
his request was met with dead silence, Mulder asked. "Why  
  
is no one picking up the phone?"  
  
Starkweather raised herself up on her elbows. "Because,"  
  
she said wearily, "we haven't been able to get in touch  
  
with her since last night."  
  
Sam was quick to reassure him, "William is fine, he's safe,  
  
he's been guarded by Skinner and Reyes the entire time this  
  
mess began. I'm sure Scully is safe," Sam hoped he sounded  
  
more positive than he felt. "We would have heard if she  
  
wasn't."  
  
"Besides," Starkweather's dry voice cut into the  
  
conversation, "you have bigger problems than the  
  
whereabouts of Scully right now."  
  
Mulder and Sam both turned around. Starkweather was aiming  
  
her gun at Mulder. She ju "Oh crap," Frohike said as Langly  
  
and Byers froze. Manny said something in Spanish that  
  
sounded suspiciously sacriligious.  
  
"Starkweather," Sam said slowly, "what are you doing?"  
  
Despite her injuries, Starkweather managed to sit up, face  
  
Mulder and hold her gun in the perfect FBI grip, aiming  
  
right between the eyes, point blank range. If she chose to  
  
fire, **if she chose to fire**, no vaccine would bring him  
  
back from the grave this time.  
  
"Starkweather, you don't want to do this," Sam said,  
  
inching towards her, prepared to wrest the gun from her  
  
hand... again. I'm getting too good at this... Sam  
  
thought as beads of perspiration collected on his forehead.  
  
"Doggett, shut up," Starkweather said pleasantly enough.  
  
She tilted her head and looked at Mulder straight in the  
  
eye. "Did you kill my husband."  
  
Mulder, who had been completely unruffled the entire time  
  
said without batting an eye "No."  
  
"Do you believe he's still alive?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Will you help us find him?"  
  
"I would even if there wasn't a gun pointed at me," Mulder  
  
said in his monotone at its most nettlesome.  
  
Starkweather gritted her teeth, put her weapon back on  
  
safety, set it down beside her, and fainted.  
  
Sam released a sigh of relief. Mulder turned to him and  
  
said, the tiniest hints of surprise and rebuke coloring his  
  
voice, "You didn't really think she was going to fire...  
  
did you?"  
  
Sam looked at Mulder in shock. "She has been on the  
  
Emotional Rollercoaster from Hell, Mulder," Sam snapped on  
  
him. "I'm surprised she didn't fire on me as well." since  
  
part of her still probably suspects I'm not really  
  
Doggett.  
  
Mulder shook his head. "She's in shock from her injuries.  
  
Starkweather's hot headed, but she'll be fine once we get  
  
her stabilized." he said, coming to her and taking the gun  
  
away, hitting the button with released the clip. A full  
  
cache of bullets landed in his hands. He handed them to  
  
Sam. "Still," the mischievious twinkle was back in his  
  
eyes, "better treat her like Barney Fife for a while." He  
  
walked away, whistling under his breath as he went to  
  
scrounge with Byers for more medical supplies.  
  
Sam folded his lips tight. The cocky son-of-a-bitch. he  
  
thought... although... deep down, he knew Mulder was right.  
  
She would have never fired, she was only trying to rattle  
  
him... and failed utterly. Sam went up to Starkweather and  
  
stroked her hair. "Hang in there, Doc," he said softly. "We  
  
can see the light at the end of the tunnel now..."  
  
Mulder propped Starkweather's injured leg on top of a  
  
pillow. Miraculously, Byers found a first aid kit that had  
  
silverdine ointment in it, a wonderful cream used to treat  
  
serious burns. He handed the tube to Doggett and told him  
  
"You do the honors" as he sterilized the tweezers in hot  
  
water.  
  
Gingerly, Sam applied the cream to the burn on the inside  
  
of her leg. "Ben would shoot me if he saw this," he  
  
muttered.  
  
"Starkweather is going to want to shoot me for real once I  
  
start digging the gravel out," Mulder said as he used tongs  
  
to fish out the hot tweezers and set them on the table to  
  
let them cool before he went to work.  
  
"HOW did you know she wasn't going to shoot you???" Sam  
  
burst out.  
  
Mulder shrugged. "She wanted to get my attention. She got  
  
it."  
  
"But you weren't worried?"  
  
"No."  
  
The Gunmen in the back were cooking on something on their  
  
computers. Sam only hoped that it was about the case.  
  
"WHY does she... um," Sam tried to pose his question  
  
delicately as he finished applying the salve and went  
  
around the table to assist Mulder in his dreaded task.  
  
"Hate my guts?" Mulder finished Sam's sentence for him.  
  
"Well... when I was young and stupid, I had gotten a lead  
  
about an abductee named Lynnette Malone. She was a multiple  
  
abductee until she turned nineteen an married a fine young  
  
sailor in the Navy. The source that tipped me off said  
  
there was something very special about Miss Malone that  
  
would affect me personally. Of course, I assumed she had  
  
information about Samantha. I took the address and flew out  
  
there like a bat out of hell. Unfortunately, my source  
  
failed to tell me that Miss Malone was now Mrs. Bailey and  
  
was dying of cancer, leaving behind a husband and a sixteen  
  
year old daughter."  
  
"Starkweather," Sam said, under his breath.  
  
"Mrs. Bailey was perfectly lucid when I met with her and we  
  
chatted for a good ten minutes before I started my  
  
questions. Even in the beginning of my interview, she  
  
opened up just the tiniest bit, but..." Mulder shook his  
  
head as he readied the tweezers. "Mrs. Bailey was suffering  
  
from a rare type of brain cancer, rare in most people, but  
  
common in women who have been abducted, tested and made  
  
sterile due to the tests. Scully nearly died of the same  
  
cancer," Mulder looked at Starkweather. "Good thing she  
  
passed out, this is going to hurt like a b*tch." Mulder  
  
pulled the first piece of gravel out of her leg.  
  
Starkweather flinched, but didn't wake up. "Anyway, Mrs.  
  
Bailey was in the final stages of the cancer and her  
  
lucidity was slipping away. She became frightened,  
  
disorientated. Instead of calling the nurse, I pressed on,  
  
hoping that she'd come back from the hell the tumors were  
  
creating for her just to breath to me the secret I was  
  
convinced she held that would help me find my sister.  
  
Little did I know that Starkweather had been outside,  
  
listening in on every word. Her mother completely collapsed  
  
the next day, slipped into a coma and passed away.  
  
Starkweather never forgave me for not letting her mother  
  
have a peaceful death, and I never forgave myself." Mulder  
  
sighed as he continued to pick out the gravel. "And the  
  
irony was, after all these years, my source WAS correct.  
  
Mrs. Bailey did have something that was intensely  
  
personally to me. She was raising my father's daughter."  
  
Startled, Sam stared at Mulder. "How did you know that?" he  
  
asked cautiously.  
  
Mulder looked up at Sam, a wicked twinkle in his hazel  
  
eyes, "Because," he said lowly, "Al told me, Sam."  
  
Sam exhaled. He had forgotten that he had deployed Al to  
  
Mulder's cell to tell him the happy news.  
  
Where the hell was Al anyway?  
  
"I'm not going to say anything," Mulder continued to speak  
  
sotto voce. "You don't need to be added to their online  
  
newsletter," he subtly nodded his head towards the Gunmen.  
  
Sam, meanwhile was watching Starkweather, "She's waking  
  
up," Sam warned Mulder.  
  
"Damn," Mulder muttered, trying to pull out a very  
  
difficult shard of glass that refused to budge. "Could you  
  
bludgeon her with a heavy object so she'll stay unconscious  
  
for at least five more minutes? I'm almost done."  
  
"I heard that," Starkweather opened her eyes. "Help me up,"  
  
Starkweather asked Sam. "I wanna see what Dr.  
  
Frankenstein's doing to me."  
  
Mulder didn't even look at her, "It's alive, it's alive,"  
  
he said in his monotone. "Starkweather, if there's  
  
something to hold on to or bite on, do it, because, of  
  
course since I don't hold a degree in medicine, I'm making  
  
an assumption, but this is going to hurt. A lot."  
  
"Joy." Starkweather said as she gripped Sam's wrists.  
  
"Bliss." She took a deep breath. "If it's glass, and I  
  
can't believe I'm saying this, but pull it out slow. I  
  
would be slightly on the unhappy side if it broke and a  
  
chunk of glass was still in my leg."  
  
"They look to be mostly flesh wounds though," Mulder said,  
  
"Okay, count of three," Starkweather looked away, "One-  
  
two- deep breath- THREE," and Mulder pulled the last  
  
stubborn piece of glass out of her leg. Starkweather's  
  
nails dug into Sam-in-Doggett's wrists and tried to hold in  
  
the whimpering sounds. "Okay," Mulder held up the glass.  
  
"it's out."  
  
"How much left to do?" Starkweather leaned forward to  
  
examine her own leg. "My God..." she muttered. "Gives all  
  
new meaning to the phrase 'That's gonna leave a mark.'" The  
  
doctor bent forward as far as she could to continue her  
  
topical exam. "I think you got most of it, though. There's  
  
a few big pieces of gravel that should come out, but  
  
anything else will probably work its way out in time." She  
  
leaned back into Sam's belly. "Let's get it over with."  
  
So Mulder was back to work. By the time he was done, tears  
  
were steaming down her face. "I didn't mean to hurt you,"  
  
Mulder said.  
  
Sam caught the double-meaning. He wondered if Starkweather  
  
did.  
  
"I know, I know," Starkweather, feeling like a bawl baby  
  
and hated it, sucked it up and dashed away the childish  
  
tears with a flick of the hand. She watched Mulder put a  
  
sterile cotton pad on her burn and then using clean cotton  
  
bandages, started to wrap her up. "So..." she said wearily,  
  
accepting the glass of cool water Langly brought her.  
  
"What's the master plan of getting Ben out of this  
  
clusterfuck."  
  
Both Mulder and Sam looked at her in shock.  
  
Starkweather opened one eye and said airly "You boys didn't  
  
dream for one second you were going to cut me out of the  
  
action, did you?"  
  
Stammering, Sam said "Your leg..."  
  
"Doggett, obvisiously I never told you about my motorcycle  
  
accident I had when I was stationed at Whiteman AFB in  
  
Missouri. Made this one look like a kiss of a ladybug. I  
  
was almost given a medical disability discharge." She  
  
sighed. "That might be Ben's bike, but I was the one who  
  
taught him how to ride."  
  
Mulder and Doggett believed her.  
  
"Well-" Mulder was about to launch into one of his  
  
profoundly weird but almost always eeriely correct theories  
  
when Byers interrupted.  
  
"There's someone at the door," Byers said, looking through  
  
the peep hole, "Someone," Byers looked at Mulder, "you  
  
probably have been waiting to see." He undid the many locks  
  
and in walk Special Agent Dana Scully, carrying a sleeping  
  
Will Mulder crossed over to her. Typical of their  
  
extremely private, personal relationship, Mulder only put  
  
his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead, then  
  
kissed the baby. Old habits die hard. Or maybe he was  
  
actually being considerate of Frohike's feelings for once,  
  
since the truculent little man still carried quite the  
  
torch for her. Scully only closed her eyes in relief that  
  
Mulder was out of harms way. She did shift the baby into  
  
one arm and with her free hand, reached for his, which he  
  
grabbed and interlocked his fingers with hers.  
  
"Scully," Starkweather raised a hand in greeting. "  
  
'Sup?"  
  
"What happened to you?" Scully's eyebrows flew up in  
  
concern.  
  
"I'll live," Starkweather side-stepped her question. "Where  
  
the hell've you been?"  
  
Mulder's hand left hers and he had began to put it around  
  
her shoulders, a little more PDA that she was used, than  
  
either of them had been used to, but she welcomed it, until  
  
her shoulder reminded her that she had been shot there.  
  
"Ow," Scully folded her lips together.  
  
"What's the matter, Scully?" Mulder took Will and passed  
  
him off to Sam.  
  
"Mulder, I'm fine." she protested when he pushed away her  
  
coat and tugged at the collar of her shirt gently to try  
  
and see more of her shoulder.  
  
"Scully, when you translate those two words from Scullyese  
  
to Basic English, 'I'm fine' really means 'Something bad  
  
has happened, but I'm going to lie my ass off about it  
  
because I don't want to worry anyone about it.'" He pulled  
  
Scully aside, glared at everyone else. Everyone else  
  
scurried off and became really interested in whatever task  
  
they had been working on. Except for Starkweather, she just  
  
laid back down and started to count the cracks in the  
  
ceiling.  
  
"Scully," Mulder scolded her. "We've been through too much  
  
already for you to start this 'I'm fine' bs again. What  
  
happened? Why is your shoulder bandaged like that?"  
  
Scully sighed. He was not going to take this well. "Mulder,  
  
I was shot at yesterday." She saw his eyes change from the  
  
warm golden hazel to that strange honey-green color  
  
whenever he was enraged.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Marita Covarubias. She's involved with this. But I AM  
  
fine, Mulder. It was a flesh wound. The worst that it did  
  
was ruin another blazer." She tugged at his hand. "Mulder,  
  
listen to me. There isn't time for this. I've discovered  
  
some new information that clear your name completely and  
  
blow this case wide open. I need to tell you and Agent  
  
Doggett and Agent Starkweather what's going on. I saw Ben,  
  
with my own eyes. He's alive. But unless we do something  
  
soon, I don't know how much longer he'll stay alive. I need  
  
to brief you and the others. Immediately," Scully insisted.  
  
Mulder's eyes never left her face. "Why did you bring Boo  
  
here?" Scully dropped her eyes to her shoes. "Something  
  
must have happened if you did not feel secure enough to  
  
leave him with a sitter."  
  
Now Scully's eyes teared up and Mulder hated himself for  
  
it. He had woken up many a night in a cold sweat because of  
  
very real fears of William's safety. For as long as he had  
  
known her, Scully had always been a meticulous agent. Harm  
  
has never fallen on anyone because of irresponsibility on  
  
her behalf. Whatever Scully had stumbled upon must have  
  
been big, big enough into scaring her to collect Will and  
  
flee to the Gunmen strong hold. "It's okay," Mulder said,  
  
discreetly kissing her cheek, taking her hand again. "Just  
  
tell us what happened."  
  
So they rejoined the group. Byers got a chair for Scully  
  
and then got a chair for himself. Manny came up to the  
  
group apprehensively and hovered on the fringe. Frohike  
  
stayed at his computer. Langly leaned against a table, next  
  
to Starkweather, who had sat up and swung her legs over the  
  
edge so they were dangling. Sam gave Will to Mulder and  
  
flanked Starkweather on her other side. Mulder stood behind  
  
Scully, prepared to memorize every word. They all were.  
  
Scully took a breath, "Agent Starkweather, as of three  
  
hours ago, I can confirm that Ben is still alive."  
  
Now Starkweather took a breath. She fiddled with her  
  
wedding ring. "Tell me."  
  
So Scully started to recant her tale of the past day's  
  
events.  
  
Back to the Future...right after Al left 37C  
  
***********************************************  
  
Al came storming through the chamber door, livid.  
  
"Dammit Goushie! I don't care if I hafta sell my soul to do  
  
it, GET ME BACK THERE!"  
  
"I-I-I would if I could, Admiral...but that's a bit  
  
difficult right now. Ziggy's gotta glitch and I haven't  
  
figured out where it is. Is the handlink uh...up and  
  
running?" Goushie stammerred.  
  
"You know," Al ranted, "you'd think with a time machine,  
  
we'd have all the time in the world on our hands...but  
  
tonight, things could get very very bad very very fast if I  
  
don't get to Sam NOW!"  
  
"The handlink, admiral...is it running?" Goushie persisted.  
  
Al looked down and only nodded.  
  
Then he stormed into the waiting room, and saw Doggett  
  
sedated and unconscious. "Damn stupid marine." He mumbled,  
  
accentuating each word with a bang of his head against the  
  
plexi-glass.  
  
"Verbeena," Al growled as soon as the psychologist was in  
  
view, "please tell me he's just taking a little snooze."  
  
"He's just taking a little snooze..." under Al's  
  
scrutinizing glare, she revised her statement, "...with the  
  
help of some ethanol." Dr. Beeks returned with flat  
  
caution. When Al's glare persisted, she added hastily, "You  
  
gave me orders to sedate him if he became violent  
  
again...and he did. I had no choice in that."  
  
"Verbeena...I don't care if you hafta pump black coffee  
  
through him intravenously...I need what he knows. We've got  
  
a situation back there."  
  
"Al," Dr. Beeks interrupted firmly. "If Goushie can't even  
  
get you back there, what good his Agent Doggett's  
  
information going to be to you until then?"  
  
"Admiral..." Goushie began cautiously, "I'm afraid...you're  
  
gonna hafta sit tight here for a while. We've got a  
  
corrupted component that we won't be able to have replaced  
  
till morning. Besides...I know you're exhausted...I think a  
  
night's sleep will do you good."  
  
"Is there any way you can get the imaging chamber and the  
  
handlink to coordinate without that component?"  
  
"Yes, but there are several possibilities if you do make  
  
contact with Dr. Becket."  
  
"They are?"  
  
"Either you or Dr. Becket will be unable to retain either  
  
visual or auditory links, or everyone in the world will be  
  
able to see you, or you might have trouble with the  
  
handlink."  
  
"Goushie..." Al returned, eyes widening in alarm, "I think  
  
there's already been a glitch in the handlink...now there's  
  
a report of what looks like from the article, Billy Miles,  
  
chasing Diana Fowley and...CBG Spender? on a Kawasaki...at  
  
rush hour? Goush...I don't think folks 'll be too spooked  
  
by me walking through walls if that ain't a tabloid  
  
heading."  
  
"I'll do what I can to get you back there." Goushie  
  
promised, and scurried back to the console. Al went back to  
  
his apartment...but he doubted he'd be sleeping much.  
  
  
  
LGM lair  
  
********  
  
"Mulder," Scully began with a sharp, cautious sigh, "I can  
  
also confirm that as of six hours ago Spender is alive  
  
too."  
  
Mulder slammed his fist down on the make-shift computer  
  
desks. "So that's why you had to bring him here...he's  
  
going after you and William to get through me..." his voice  
  
was shaking now, "GodDAMMIT I can't let that happen!  
  
Starkweather...as soon as he finds out our connection,  
  
he'll get to you too."  
  
"An old man dying of emphaszema smoking a cigarette..."  
  
Starkweather deadpanned, "Oooooh...scary...now I'll sleep  
  
with the lights on with that mental picture."  
  
"Frohike," Mulder mumbled only loud enough for him to hear,  
  
"hop online and see what you can do about hacking me a  
  
plane reservation..." Mulder began shakily.  
  
"Mulder..." completely hammered by this point, and glancing  
  
wide-eyed and white-faced over at Scully, "if I get you the  
  
plane tix, promise me she's not gonna blow my ass to  
  
kingdom come."  
  
"Starkweather," Sam warned, "That old man is probably  
  
responsible for that leg...don't write him off so fast..."  
  
"Langly, please..." Mulder hissed cuatiously so as not to  
  
wake up William, "get me a fake birth certificate, SSN, and  
  
ID...Scully...if he's using you and Will to get to me,  
  
we'll be dodging Billy Miles all our lives, that's not fair  
  
to either you or him...I can't let that happen."  
  
"Mulder, just what do you think your doing?" Sam hissed  
  
adamantly, "after all me, Scully, everybody went through to  
  
make sure your kid has a father around, I sure as hell am  
  
not going to sit by and let you run."  
  
"Doggett," Scully scowled, eyebrow raised and jaw clinched  
  
"let me handle this," then she seethed towards Mulder,  
  
"Mulder, You think for one minute he's not going to try to  
  
get to me through you or William, too? That terrifies  
  
me...every damn day I wake up in the morning with that  
  
fear...but what kind of lesson is that to teach him? To run  
  
from everything lurking in the shadow? You really want him  
  
to grow up resenting you the way you resented your father?"  
  
"Scully," now Mulder's jaw was furiously clinched and his  
  
own voice was raspy, if everyone hadn't been there to  
  
witness their conversation, "I'm a fugitive now...not only  
  
from Spender, but from the law. If I stay, I'm a threat to  
  
you and him. What do you think he'll resent me more for?  
  
Making him afraid for his life and yours every day he lives  
  
or my abscence?"  
  
"Saved by the bell, man." Langly nasalled. "That same  
  
trenchcoat I saw walking away that night" Then he looked in  
  
to see a woman holding gun at the cameras "...oh shit.  
  
Boys...we've got company." His Adam'sapple bobbed up and  
  
down as he unlocked the deadbolts one by one.  
  
He opened the door, and heard the c*ck of a gun. Sam drew  
  
out Doggett's government-issued clipper.  
  
Marita emerged in the doorway with Scully's FBI-issued .32  
  
calliber pistol at Langly's head."  
  
"I am NEVER answering the door again, man." Langely  
  
wavered.  
  
"Go ahead, kill 'im...he's annoying as hell..." Frohike  
  
grumbled.  
  
"Relax," Marita purred, "I'm only using the gun for  
  
persuasion. I need your help as much as you need mine."  
  
"I don't know who the hell you are," Sam growled, getting  
  
his own FBI issued gun out of its holster, "we've got our  
  
own persuasions, too."  
  
"You don't belong here, do you?" Marita mused in Sam's  
  
direction.  
  
Am I really that obvious? Sam tried not to make it  
  
obvious that she was right.  
  
"Agent Scully, to show I'm here with good intentions,  
  
here's your weapon." She said, giving the gun to Scully.  
  
"Sorry about the bullet wound, I had no choice in the  
  
matter. I am a desperate woman."  
  
"You almost killed me." Scully hisssed.  
  
"Agent Scully, I'm a better shot than that. If I wanted to  
  
kill you, I would have." Marita spat back.  
  
"You're not exactly what I'd call a Mother Teresa."  
  
Starkweather mumbled under her breath.  
  
"Marita, if you're here to help us, then why did you send a  
  
lawyer to frame me?" Mulder demanded.  
  
"Yes, that was my doing..." Marita answered with a ragged  
  
breath, "but it was for your protection. It was the only  
  
place I could insure that you'd be safe. I had no choice in  
  
sending the replicant to your cell. The old man doesn't see  
  
things the way I do. He thinks that your dynasty should be  
  
destroyed while there is still time."  
  
"Why protect me?" He mumbled, raking a hand through his  
  
hair.  
  
"You and your family," she said, glancing at Will and  
  
Starkweather, "are the only thing keeping this planet from  
  
colonization."  
  
"So what, I get to save the world?" Starkweather smirked.  
  
"Neato." She finished dryly.  
  
"This isn't her fight," Mulder began but Starkweather  
  
stopped him in midthought.  
  
"Look, Big Brother," Starkweather spat back, "Thanks for  
  
sticking up for me on the playground and all but this IS my  
  
fight too. They took my husband...the one part of my life  
  
that is anything close to f*cking normal. If he is still  
  
alive, then I'm going to make damn sure he stays that way.  
  
This is too damn personal for me to back out of now.  
  
Whether we like it or not, I'm in this as deep as you are."  
  
"If we are to succeed, we don't have much time." Marita  
  
cautioned.  
  
"I still don't get it..." Sam began, "If you're trying to  
  
take control of the Syndicate, why help us out?"  
  
"The old man thinks colonization of the blue-collar working  
  
class is the only way to save the few priveledged." Marita  
  
answered quietly,  
  
"What he doesn't get is that they won't take some of  
  
us...they'll take all of us. Destroying both Mulder and  
  
Starkweather professionally and keeping them away from the  
  
area is the only way I can do that. I've let the Old Man  
  
think I'm doing his bidding. Distract his goons by getting  
  
the lawyer out of the warehouse, and I can regain controll  
  
of the Syncidate."  
  
"How the hell do you expect us to take your word now after  
  
all the lies you've told?" Scully seethed.  
  
"What choice do you have?" She answered evenly without  
  
batting an eyelid. "I'm going to take controll of the  
  
Syndicate whether you help me or not. I can find another  
  
way. I realise my actions have been dubious...but you must  
  
realize that it's all done for what's right. I sent the  
  
replicant betting that you'd be able to defeat him. I  
  
didn't count on the regenerative properties to only be  
  
enhanced every time he's destroyed. Make your decision  
  
quickly. Ben is back in the Lincoln Street Warehouse."  
  
With that, she made her exit.  
  
"What the fuck are we going to do..." Mulder mumbled,  
  
ragging his hand in his hair. "We sure as hell can't trust  
  
her. Like I was saying before...I think our safest bet is  
  
for me to leave..."  
  
"What she says does match up with what the detective told  
  
me last night." Scully admitted in between coos to William  
  
who was now very much awake and cranky.  
  
"I can't believe I'm saying this but...Mulder's kinda  
  
making sense here...at least about trusting her. What if  
  
it's a trap?" Sam wondered as Starkweather reached out for  
  
William who wailed at a decible level that should have  
  
broken all the computer screans exposed in the warehouse.  
  
"You wanna play target practice, kiddo?" Starkweather  
  
cooed. Frohike flashed her a dirty look and snatched him  
  
up. "Come on, kid," he grumbled, Uncle Melvin'll show you  
  
how to hack into national security."  
  
"Scully, what did you find out last night?" Scully and  
  
Mulder both glancing nervously behind them at what Frohike  
  
was doing.  
  
William was content with banging on the keyboard. "You  
  
looking for a consultant position with us, Will?" Byers  
  
said as he came out of his room in the back.  
  
"Guys, I found something on my mac you might wanna take a  
  
look at...Mulder, looks like your arresting officer is  
  
buddies with Kersh. You guys might wanna take a look at  
  
this." Frohike hurredly passed William to Starkweather like  
  
a hot potato as he ran to the room as he went to see what  
  
Byers was talking about.  
  
"Yeah, way to treat a cripple, guys!" Starkweather hollared  
  
after them all in protest. "Well Will...looks like it's you  
  
'n me, buddy. You think the guys have survellence cameras  
  
around here?" Will's face started scrunching up again in  
  
aggrivation. "Oh come on, kiddo..." Starkweather cooed,  
  
hoisting him up so that his head was level with hers.  
  
"We're family, I'm not gonna really use you as target  
  
practice...I was just kidding. You know, if you need me to  
  
beat up your Daddy for you, I'll be happy to do that...or  
  
if you need advice about girls, I can do that too...I am  
  
one you know...your daddy took seven years to get your  
  
mommy, so he's not exactly the best person for advice in  
  
that department...or if you want a really cool toy, I'll  
  
see what I can do about negotiating with Santa Claus speed  
  
it up." She glanced nervously back towards the room to see  
  
if anyone was coming out any time soon. Then she did  
  
something thoroughly uncharacteristic.  
  
She began singing.  
  
Unlike her colleagues, her voice was actually a pleasant  
  
sound.  
  
When your down and troubled  
  
and you need some lovin' care  
  
and nothin', oh nothin' is going right  
  
close your eyes and think of me  
  
and soon I will be there  
  
to brighten up even your darkest night  
  
You just call out my name and you know wherever I am  
  
I'll come runnin'to see you again  
  
Winter spring summer or fall  
  
all you hafta do is call  
  
and I'll be there  
  
you've got a friend  
  
If the sky above you grows dark and full of clouds  
  
and that old north wind should begin to blow  
  
you just keep your head together  
  
and call my name out loud and soon,  
  
you'll hear me knockin' at your door  
  
You just call out my name  
  
and you know where ever I am I'll  
  
come runnin, runnin' yeah  
  
to see you again  
  
Winter Spring, summer or fall  
  
all you hafta do is call  
  
and I'll be there yes I will  
  
Now ain't it good to know that you've got a friend  
  
when people can be so cold  
  
they'll hurt you, yes and desert you  
  
and take your soul if you let them  
  
but don't you let them  
  
you just call out my name  
  
and you know whereever I am  
  
I'll come runnin', runnin' yeah to see you again  
  
Winter spring, summer or fall, all you hafta do is call,  
  
and I'll be there yes will  
  
Starkweather was belting it out much to Will's delight, and  
  
Sam heard the commotion from the front room and rushed to  
  
see if Starkweather was in pain or having trouble  
  
controlling Will. He approached cautiously when he realized  
  
she was singing, and at the scene of her with her nephew,  
  
Sam wished almost bitterly that the strange dream he had  
  
had a few nights ago could be true.  
  
Starkweather was belting it out much to Will's delight, and  
  
Sam heard the commotion from the front room and rushed to  
  
see if Starkweather was in pain or having trouble  
  
controlling Will. He approached cautiously when he realized  
  
she was singing, and at the scene of her with her nephew,  
  
Sam wished almost bitterly that the strange dream he had  
  
had a few nights ago could be true.  
  
Starkweather looked up. "Doggett," she said, unabashedly.  
  
"What's up?"  
  
"You better come here," Sam said solemnly. "We're figuring  
  
out a game plan."  
  
"What's the play, Papa John?"  
  
"We're going in."  
  
"'We' as in you and Mulder or 'we' as in you, Mulder and  
  
myself?"  
  
"Starkweather, your leg-" Sam feebly protested, knowing  
  
that it was going to do no good.  
  
She scowled at him. "Here," she thrusted Will at him. Sam  
  
gingerly took the baby. She took a step back, then a step  
  
forward, going head over heels, executing a perfect  
  
cartwheel. "I'm fine. I'm in. Whether you like it or not."  
  
"Doesn't sound like we have much of a choice," Mulder's dry  
  
voice came up from behind Sam.  
  
"Here," Sam handed Will to Mulder. William, since he was a  
  
very young child, could see Sam as Sam. Not sure of  
  
strangers, Will had stared at Sam, his big eyes filled with  
  
terror, his puckered up on the verge of a cry.  
  
"What's with you, Boo?" Mulder asked Will who snuggled as  
  
close to Mulder as he could. "Byers is calling Reyes. He's  
  
giving her the information that Scully collected. That's  
  
enough for a search warrant for Justin Leo and the lovely  
  
Detective Somerset. He liked strip-searching me a little  
  
too much." Mulder droned on, absolutely straight faced.  
  
"Thanks for sharing," Starkweather quipped.  
  
"So while their privacy is being invaded, we're going on a  
  
field trip to a certain warehouse where hopefully Mr.  
  
Starkweather is still in one piece."  
  
"We're going heavily armed, correct?"  
  
Mulder crossed over to his half-sister. "This is no game,  
  
Starkweather. You saw what Billy Miles is capable of." By  
  
this point, everyone else had re-entered the room.  
  
"I know. That's why I asked if we were going to be heavily  
  
armed."  
  
Mulder folded his arms. "Why don't you be in charge of  
  
amunitions?"  
  
"Does anyone have a shotgun?" When Sam and Mulder glared at  
  
her, she replied "I'm serious. Maybe it wouldn't kill him,  
  
but a hole through his gut might stall him. A bit."  
  
"I've got one," Langly ventured shyly.  
  
All turned. "What the hell are YOU doing with a shotgun?"  
  
Scully cried.  
  
Langly shrugged. "I won it in a game of D and D."  
  
"D and D??" For once, Starkweather was stumped.  
  
"Dungeons and Dragons."  
  
"Never mind..." Starkweather said. "When are we leaving?"  
  
"As soon as it's dark," Scully said. "It'll be the four of  
  
us. The Gunmen are staying behind to care for Will," she  
  
reached out to touch William's head.  
  
"What if," Starkweather said, softly now, "what if that  
  
blond bitch is lying?"  
  
"She probably is," Mulder said. "But not about Ben being  
  
dead. Not yet. We don't have a lot of time, but we've got  
  
some."  
  
"Hey Mulder?"  
  
Mulder came closer to her. "Yeah?"  
  
She reached up and tore the fake beard and moustache that  
  
he had been wearing since he left the prison.  
  
"YEOOOOOWWW!!!!" He grabbed his face in pain. Tears came to  
  
his eyes.  
  
"That's for even contemplating the possibilty of being a  
  
coward and running away," she snapped as she reached into  
  
his coat jacket and retrieving her gun. "Let's go."  
  
Meanwhile....  
  
As she crossed the deserted intersection, Marita Covarubias  
  
adjusted her hat, a vintage scooped hat circa 1921. Not  
  
only was it trendy again, but it also hid her face nicely.  
  
Still, they managed to find her.  
  
A sleek black Toyota Supra pulled up beside her. Two men  
  
bailed out of the backseat. The same two, coincidentially,  
  
who kicked down the hotel room down and snatched Benjamin  
  
Starkweather away in the dead of night, snatched up Marita.  
  
They threw her unceremonially into the backseat. Then they  
  
got back into the car and the Supra went forward.  
  
Sandwiched between the two thugs, Marita had no choice but  
  
to sit very still. The interior of the car reeked of  
  
nicotine. The passenger up front didn't need to identify  
  
himself.  
  
But he did anyway.  
  
"You little rat," The Cancer Man pulled out another  
  
cigarette from his pack. He lit it with his little butune  
  
lighter before continuing on, never turning around to face  
  
her. "Did you learn nothing from the death of Alex Krycek?"  
  
"Alex Krycek," she seethed "was murdered by Assistant  
  
Director Walter Skinner."  
  
"I ALLOWED Krycek," he corrected her, "to be murdered by  
  
Assistant Director Walter Skinner. When Krycek became a  
  
nuisance, I lifted his protection. As I will soon to you if  
  
you don't cease this scampering about."  
  
One of the thugs pulled out a long knife. Marita tried not  
  
to look at it. Still, the Smoking Man never turned around.  
  
"What confidences did you share with the Mulders?" he  
  
asked. "Happy little family, aren't they?"  
  
"You're never going to win, old man," she informed him,  
  
still trying to hide her nervousness about the knife. "Not  
  
with your dithering."  
  
Finally the old devil turned around. "Dithering?"  
  
"Kill Mulder, don't kill Mulder. This crap has been going  
  
on since I joined the Syndicate. Time and time again we've  
  
had the chance to get rid of him. Time and time again YOU  
  
have found a reason not to do it. Even you order the hit to  
  
be made yourself, some how, you find a reason not to go  
  
through with it, even though the Old Syndicate was  
  
destoryed because of it."  
  
CSM smiled. It was not a pleasant sight. "And yet, you had  
  
the opportunity of a lifetime tonight, didn't you. To wipe  
  
them ALL out. Mulder. Agent Scully. That new fellow  
  
Doggett. And of course, Mulder's long lost little half-  
  
sister. Not quite his beloved Samantha, but she'll do." He  
  
inhaled deeply. "And you speak of such nostalgia for the  
  
Old Syndicate when the New Syndicate is so much more  
  
powerful. And YOU have so much more power and status in the  
  
New Syndicate than the Old. And yet, you went intriguing  
  
tonight. What was the point of your little adventure  
  
Marita, dear?" The thug with the knife swiftly slashed the  
  
top of her leg. It was not a deep, life-threatening cut,  
  
but it bled copiously and hurt like hell. Marita gasped and  
  
pressed her palm to her wound to stop the flow. "You  
  
wouldn't be foolish enough to share the location of Mr.  
  
Starkweather, would you?" The thug on her other side  
  
suddenly produced a knife and slashed her other leg. This  
  
cut was a bit deeper and hurt a lot more. Marita whimpered  
  
and pressed her other palm into her other leg. Her  
  
periwinkle slacks were turning a deep red. The Cancer Man  
  
sighed. "Silence is the same as consent."  
  
Marita, defiantly, although she was beginning to feel  
  
light-headed, snapped "You'll never be able to wrest  
  
control of the Syndicate this way." She pressed her palms  
  
down on the cuts harder. She watched her own blood ooze  
  
from between her fingers. "No one in their right minds will  
  
follow you again."  
  
"Nor anyone will follow you," Cancer Man reminded her  
  
gently. "So, you see, Marita, we are in the same boat after  
  
all." He snuffed out his old cigarette and lit a fresh one.  
  
"I'll tell you why I always hestitated when it concerned  
  
killing Mulder. I liked him. I've always liked him. I knew  
  
him as a boy, although he doesn't realize, doesn't  
  
remember. But more importantly, I admired his father. Bill  
  
Mulder was my friend. Even when The Project forced us to  
  
take separate paths, I've always admired him. I have always  
  
felt that I at least owed it to Bill to protect his only  
  
son... and his youngest daughter."  
  
"You speak of Starkweather as if she was normal," Marita  
  
knew she was about to pass out. She assumed she was going  
  
to die tonight, so she was determined to die with at least  
  
the truth. The dirty bastard owed her that much at least.  
  
"We both know she is not."  
  
The old man smiled again. "Starkweather is a very special  
  
woman," he said slowly, emphasising 'special.' She was  
  
meant to be a gift to the Mulders."  
  
"How convienient. Take one daughter and replace her with  
  
another. Interesting how you all keep referring her as  
  
Mulder's half-sister. If Bill Mulder is her father... who  
  
is her mother?"  
  
The Cancer Man ignored the second question but answered the  
  
first."No one could replace Samantha, of course, but a  
  
child always has a way of lighting a dark room... similiar  
  
how young William lit up the life of the lonely Agent  
  
Scully." He shrugged. "It was a mistake for us to allow the  
  
existance of Starkweather just as it was a mistake to allow  
  
the existance of William. Two mistakes that will be  
  
rectified soon."  
  
Marita wanted to hear more but she was greying out.  
  
"Heartless monster," she managed to mumble out.  
  
The Cancer Man shook his head. "No," he said. "That's the  
  
problem. If I was truly a heartless man, Fox Mulder would  
  
have been smothered in his cradle as I had been originally  
  
ordered to do. And none of this would be happening now,  
  
would it?"  
  
Marita passed out.  
  
CSM turned around. "Bind her wounds," he ordered the thugs  
  
in the backseat. "And don't let her die. Take her to the  
  
hospital. Let her be arrested. She needs a reminder of her  
  
position with the Syndicate, Old or New. We'll get her out  
  
of prison when we need her again. After the hospital, to  
  
the warehouse," he sighed. "Mulder and Starkweather  
  
probably already have a head start."  
  
He opened the glove box, took out the Glock with the  
  
silencer and checked it over carefully as the driver  
  
cruised on and the thugs attended to Marita's injuries.  
  
The gun was locked and loaded.  
  
The thugs, Zeke and Mick deposited Marita Covarrubias  
  
unceremoniously off at the doors of the hospital. Instead  
  
of getting back into CSM's car, they walked into the nearly  
  
deserted hospital parking garage where a non-descript brown  
  
1985 Celebrity was waiting.  
  
"What do you think the old man's got in mind?" The thug  
  
asked his colleague conversationally before he got into the  
  
car.  
  
He never got an answer. His colleague turned to him and  
  
buried his knife deep into his gut. Blood spurted out of  
  
him mouth. He crumpled to the ground and died. The  
  
colleague picked up his companion and put him in the trunk.  
  
The colleague got into the car and drove away.  
  
As he drove away, he pulled off the fake eyebrows, the fake  
  
beard and moustache. He took off the hat and long curly  
  
brown hair tumbled down. He dug into his pocket and pulled  
  
out a cellphone.  
  
Meanwhile....  
  
The Washington DC Marriott  
  
Room 12754  
  
The cell phone on the table rang startling the Admiral out  
  
of his sleep. "Hello?" he said, rubbing his brow, still  
  
feeling the effects of the hangover.  
  
"Admiral," a light voice said. "It's Jennifer."  
  
"Jennifer." One of his spies. "What did you discover?"  
  
"Ben's alive. Mulder's alive and he's free. And Jerilyn's  
  
safe."  
  
"Thank God, thank God." The Admiral breathed a sigh a  
  
relief.  
  
"It's being assumed that they're going to the warehouse to  
  
retrieve Ben. What are your orders sir?"  
  
The Admiral paused. The Syndicate had ordered him to help  
  
them eliminate Mulder if an opportunity arose. And boy, did  
  
an opportunity arise when Benjamin Starkweather accepted  
  
the Galpex Oil Company case. A case that had been given to  
  
him thanks to that little shit, Justin Leo. The Admiral  
  
knew he owed the Syndicate everything. His wealth, his  
  
career, his daughter.  
  
This was a debt they were expecting to be paid for.  
  
However, they didn't realize that he was a political power  
  
in his own right. He was married to one of the most  
  
powerful senator in the United States who had no ties to  
  
the Syndicate. And perhaps they figured out he had  
  
originally gone to Mulder and Scully to beg for them to  
  
protect Jerilyn... they still didn't know that he was one  
  
of the major bankrollers of the small but strong resistance  
  
group which was beginning to mobilize against the  
  
inevitiable darkness forces hovering in the heavens they  
  
had no right to fly in.  
  
It was time to decide allegiances. He had dithered long  
  
enough. He had lived a long life. He was ready for the  
  
consequences of his actions.  
  
"Call the officer in charge, that Detective Edward Carillo.  
  
Tell him you just received a tip from a secret source of  
  
the location of Ben Starkweather. Tell him that your source  
  
told you that Ben is still alive. Have them hurry."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"You're looking at a promotion Jennifer."  
  
And Officer Jennifer Ithenstein, the young rookie cop who  
  
had been called to the impound to investigate the blood  
  
stains in Mulder's trunk, who had been working for the  
  
Admiral since she retired after six years of service to the  
  
Navy, who had risked her life by inflitrating the  
  
Syndicate, disguising herself as a man, slicing open Marita  
  
Covarubias' leg and killing a man tonight, merely said  
  
"Thank you sir."  
  
"Call me the minute Benjamin is found. And I want Mulder  
  
alive. Disregard my previous orders."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
The Admiral sat down with a legal pad and began to make out  
  
a will. It was witnessed by a maid from housekeeping and a  
  
security guard wandering the halls.  
  
After the Admiral hung up, Ithenstein called Carillo.  
  
But by the time the police and FBI were mobilized, Sam-in-  
  
Doggett, Mulder and Starkweather were being held at  
  
gunpoint, Scully, Manny the Illegal Alien and Ben were  
  
trapped in a locked room and the warehouse was on fire.  
  
In the shadows, the five crept around the building, Mulder  
  
and Manny leaving their flashlights off.  
  
"Looks deserted," Manny whispered.  
  
"If Ben is truly here, there'll be guards," Scully  
  
whispered back, trying the door. "Locked. Dammit."  
  
"Shoot the lock," Manny recommended.  
  
"Not wise to waste bullets on a door," Starkweather  
  
murrmurred, feeling the wood.  
  
"Especially with Billy Miles lurking around here  
  
somewhere," Mulder reminded everyone of that unpleasant  
  
fact.  
  
"I thought he got run over by a Volvo?" Manny asked.  
  
Sam grimaced. He was peering through the dusty window. "I  
  
dunno guys..." he said. "It really looks deserted. Scully's  
  
right. If Ben's here, there'd be guards. I think we were  
  
lead on a snipe hunt."  
  
"No you're not Sam!" Al suddenly popped in. Sam, Mulder and  
  
Starkweather jumped. Scully and Manny looked at them in  
  
confusion.  
  
"Al?" Mulder and Starkweather said at the same time.  
  
Starkweather turned to Mulder and said, panicked "Oh no,  
  
not you too?"  
  
"You too what?" Mulder was completely lost.  
  
"Look, you knuckleheads, there's no time, Ben's in there,  
  
they beat the snot outta him, I'm sorry Starkweather, he  
  
tried to escaped and actually hurt one of the guards badly.  
  
He needs to get to a hospital so quit staring and get your  
  
butts in gear!!!"  
  
"Who are you talking to?" Scully exclaimed.  
  
"'Otra locos mas,'" Manny groaned. "'Cuecha te madre.'"  
  
"Another crazy one," Manny groaned, "'Motherfucker.'"  
  
"Why did you call him Sam??" Starkweather demanded the  
  
hologram.  
  
"Because-" Mulder started to say, but then Sam slugged him.  
  
"Because, honey, I wish I had time to explain, but I can't,  
  
all I gotta say is look me up in about fifteen years in  
  
Roswell, New Mexico. My name is Admiral Al Calvaricci and  
  
I'll explain everything then. Now, go with DOGGETT," here  
  
Al looked pointedly at Mulder. Mulder, for once, got the  
  
hint and shut up. "and go get your husband. He's on the  
  
third floor, second door to the left." Al took out his  
  
comlink and zapped himself away.  
  
He re-appeared in Ben's prison, this time a glorified broom  
  
closet. Ben's plan to escape by burning his captors with a  
  
lit cigarette backfired horribly. His guards beat him until  
  
there was almost nothing left to beat before taking him to  
  
a different warehouse. He wasn't sure if he had really seen  
  
Agent Scully or if he was hallucinating. Now, he lay,  
  
slumped in the corner of the locked closet, face bruised,  
  
lip split, shirt crusted over in blood. The kid was in bad  
  
shape. Al crouched down by Ben. He was out and he needed a  
  
doctor, but he wasn't going to die. Not yet. But he kept  
  
slipping in and out of consciousness. "Come on kid," Al  
  
beckoned to Ben as if he could hear him. "Stay with me. The  
  
Hurricane's here and she's brought the calvary.  
  
"WHAT?!?!?!" Al yelled up to Verbeena. "What do you MEAN  
  
there's going to be a fire?!"  
  
Back in the present…  
  
"What the hell is going on?" Scully demanded.  
  
"You DIDN'T see him then?" Starkweather asked.  
  
"See who?"  
  
"Al?"  
  
Scully's brows furrowed. Al.... why did that name sound so  
  
familiar? She couldn't place her finger on it... and yet,  
  
she almost could. She looked at Doggett, opened her mouth  
  
and shut it.  
  
"There's no time for this," Mulder said. "Starkweather, if  
  
you were ever to trust me, now is the time."  
  
Starkweather looked at Mulder, lips curling down in the  
  
most unpleasant frown. "Okay, then," she consented. She  
  
looked at the door, looked at Mulder. "Cover us," she told  
  
Scully and Sam as Mulder tossed the flashlight to Sam.  
  
Mulder and Starkweather faced the door, guns in hand.  
  
Scully and Sam stood behind them, brandishing their  
  
weapons. Manny stood behind them..... WAY behind them.  
  
"On three," Mulder said. "One- two-, THREE!" At the same  
  
time, Mulder and Starkweather kicked and the door came  
  
tumbling down. Mulder and Starkweather crouched down load  
  
and pointed their guns into the darkness while Scully and  
  
Sam stood above them, guns also out.  
  
There was nothing but darkness and the sound of the rain  
  
pitter-pattering down.  
  
"Well..." Starkweather said. "I feel stupid."  
  
"Look on the bright side," Mulder said, "If this FBI thing  
  
doesn't work for you, you'll always have a future as a  
  
Charlie's Angel."  
  
"Oh shut up."  
  
Sam turned on the flashlight. "What a dump," he muttered.  
  
"Be careful," he said warily as they all slowly entered the  
  
pitch black warehouse. "We don't know what's her-" Sam  
  
never got to finish his sentence.  
  
Despite his brilliance as a physist and doctor and the  
  
wealth of experience he earned from leaping from life to  
  
life, he never underwent the extreme training that FBI  
  
agents experience during their time in Quantico. He made a  
  
mistake that no federal agent worth their salt and alive  
  
today would make.  
  
He forgot to check his blind spot.  
  
Where Billy Miles was lurking.  
  
Mulder had just turned while Sam was talking to check *his*  
  
blind spot and had just opened his mouth to shout a warning  
  
to Sam when Billy picked him up and flung him across the  
  
room like a rag doll. Sam felt his body slam against a  
  
ladder built into a wall and firecrackers of pain were lit  
  
throughout his body. The gun skittered from his hand.  
  
"SCULLY!" Mulder yelled  
  
But Scully had already lifted the shotgun and fired  
  
pointblank range at Billy, ripping away his midsection.  
  
Starkweather, taking advantage of the rigamarole, darted  
  
behind Scully and ran to Doggett's aid.  
  
"Doggett, Papa John, GET UP," Starkweather shook him as she  
  
kept the gun pointed at the replicant.  
  
"Dios mios!" Manny cried, but he did something  
  
extraoridinarily brave and extraoridinarily stupid. As  
  
Billy crumpled to the ground, Manny jumped on top of the  
  
monster and drove his knife into its neck. While Mulder ran  
  
to Sam and Starkweather's aid and Scully kept the gun aimed  
  
at Billy, Manny got up and ran back to Doggett's truck.  
  
"What are you doing?" Scully cried out after him while  
  
constantly watching her and everyone else's back. Mulder  
  
and Starkweather helped Sam up to his feet. "I'm fine," Sam  
  
insisted although he had one hell of a headache.  
  
Manny came bouncing back, carrying the gas can.  
  
"Manny," Starkweather started to say. "What are you doin-"  
  
Manny squirted Billy with gasoline. He then took out the  
  
book of matches and lit them all.  
  
Sam then looked down and noticed the streaks of oil on the  
  
floor of the warehouse. "Oh Jesus, God, Manny DON'T!!"  
  
Manny dropped the book of matches on Billy's gasoline  
  
soaked-back. Billy burst into flames as did the oil  
  
puddles. The entrance was completely blocked by fire.  
  
"SCULLY!!!" Mulder yelled.  
  
The flames had already started devouring the wood in the  
  
building. "You stupid idiot!" Scully shrieked at Manny,  
  
grabbed him by the arm and dragged him up the stairs.  
  
Meanwhile, Mulder swung up on the ladder built into the  
  
wall and started to climb up the catwalk. He hated heights,  
  
but he hated fire more. "Go, go!!!" Sam pushed Starkweather  
  
towards the ladder. Coughing, gagging on the smoke, she  
  
stuffed the gun into her waistband of her pants and started  
  
to climb. Sam followed. The metal ladder was already hot  
  
from the heat.  
  
Mulder helped pull Starkweather up onto the shaky catwalk.  
  
He looked over his shoulder down below to see Scully  
  
dragging Manny up the stairs and disappear through a door.  
  
Sam-in-Doggett was right behind Starkweather. Both  
  
Starkweather and Mulder helped Sam up. Below them was a sea  
  
of fire. The smoke was beginning to billow in the  
  
warehouse. The flames crackled merrily, consuming the many  
  
cardboard boxes and wooden beams. The catwalk swung  
  
precariously on the chains that held it up.  
  
For once Mulder and Starkweather were devoid of any witty  
  
repartie. "Come on!!" Mulder cried, grabbing Starkweather  
  
by the arm and pulling.  
  
"I can't see!" she yelled out, coughing.  
  
"Move it, Starkweather," Sam-in-Doggett yelled. "We got to get out  
  
of here."  
  
Mulder looked down again and said "Oh shit."  
  
Sam looked down and through the flames and smoke, saw the  
  
fiery figure of Billy Miles stand up, tilt its head upwards  
  
and look right at them. "Oh boy," Sam said understatedly.  
  
"Move, Starkweather, move, NOW!!" He pushed her along.  
  
Starkweather blinked the soot and smoke out of her eyes  
  
just enough to see Billy. "DAMMIT!!!" she swore. "DIE  
  
ALREADY!" She followed Mulder across the catwalk, running  
  
backwards, pulling her gun, pointing it at Billy who was  
  
climbing the ladder up to the catwalk, still limping. She  
  
was starting to fall behind Mulder and Doggett.  
  
Mulder stopped, turned around, unceremonially grabbed  
  
Starkweather around her waist, half-carried, half-drug her  
  
the rest of the way to the other side of the catwalk. He  
  
tossed her over the railing of the balcony lining the wall  
  
to the offices of the third floor. Sam was almost there  
  
when Billy got off the top rung of the ladder and swung  
  
onto the catwalk.  
  
Sam and Mulder clammered over the railing. Sam, using his  
  
elbow, smashed the glass of the office door, reached in and  
  
opened the door from the inside. "Come on!" he said and  
  
Mulder and Starkweather ducked inside.  
  
Billy was still coming.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Scully, still dragging Manny went up one flight of stairs,  
  
then another. She kicked open the door, still carrying the  
  
shotgun.  
  
"Where are we?" Manny said, scared witless by the  
  
destruction he unintentially created.  
  
"The third floor," Scully said, coughing still. The third  
  
floor was not on fire yet, but smoke was steadily creeping  
  
up from below. "Office space."  
  
Al, meanwhile, was in the broom closet with Ben. Al, upon  
  
hearing Scully's voice, began to scream hysterically at  
  
Ben. "Kid? KID GET UP! THE CALAVRY'S HERE!! COME ON!"  
  
Ben, disorientated, almost unconscious, let his head loll  
  
around, as if it was barely connected to his neck. His eyes  
  
fluttered open then shut.  
  
"BEN COME ON," Al pleaded. "I can't help you kid, make some  
  
noise, get up, get up!"  
  
Ben, raised his head. He did not hear Al, of course. But he  
  
heard Scully ".... must be a fire escape... something...  
  
was right... nothing but a big trap..."  
  
Ben tried his voice. At first, nothing but a croak came  
  
out. The second time, he got results. "Help..." he cried  
  
out as he pulled himself up, his big hand pressing against  
  
his broken ribs.  
  
"Atta boy," Al crowed. "Sportsfans, the kid is UP! COME ON  
  
SCULLY!"  
  
"Somebody... help me," Ben staggered the short distance to  
  
the door. He sank to his knees and began pounding on it.  
  
"Get me out of here."  
  
Scully froze halfway down the hall. "Did you hear  
  
something, Manny?"  
  
Manny turned around. "It's coming from that closet," he  
  
pointed at the door.  
  
"... help... I need a doctor... please..."  
  
"Ben," Scully whispered. Then louder, running down the  
  
narrow hallway, "BEN! BEN STARKWEATHER, WHERE ARE YOU?"  
  
"Here!" Ben said, almost afraid to hope. "I'm in here. Is  
  
that you, Agent Scully??"  
  
"Yes it's me Ben," Scully announced, coughing on the smoke  
  
that was getting thicker. "And Mulder and Doggett and  
  
Starkweather are here too."  
  
"Starkwea- Jerilyn? She's alive? They told me she was  
  
dead."  
  
Scully examined the lock. "Ben, get as far away from the  
  
door as possible," she ordered him. She handed the shotgun  
  
off to Manny and took out her handgun. She fired, blowing  
  
the doorhandle off. She pushed open the door. "Ben!" she  
  
gasped in horror at his appearance.  
  
"Agent Scully, god, it's good to see you," Ben took a step  
  
forward but groaned in pain, collapsing.  
  
"We've got to get you out of here," Scully said, looping  
  
his arm over her shoulder. "Manny! Manny I need your help!!  
  
Dammit!! Where did he go?"  
  
"Here, Agent Scully," Manny said, pale faced, arms over his  
  
head, the barrel of Langly's shotgun to his head.  
  
"Agent Scully, if you and Mr. Starweather would be as so  
  
kind to step out," Justin Leo said pleasantly, despite the  
  
billowing smoke and blasting heat. "And feel free to toss  
  
me your gun while you're at it."  
  
Fuming, Scully tossed her gun onto the floor and walked out  
  
of the broom closet with Ben still leaning on her  
  
shoulders. "Damn you Leo," Scully seethed, "you bastard."  
  
But Leo wasn't looking at Scully, he was staring at Ben.  
  
Hate simmered in his heart, jealousy poisoned his soul.  
  
With a kick, he forced Manny to join the trio. He pointed  
  
the shotgun at Ben's head.  
  
"Who ARE you??" Ben blurted out.  
  
And Leo lowered the gun. This guy, this man that Lily had  
  
married instead of him (or so Leo believed) had no idea who  
  
he was. He was completely clueless.  
  
As the smoke began to build up even worse and the hallway  
  
got hotter, Leo opened the door to an unused storage room.  
  
"Get in," he ordered, still pointing the shotgun at them.  
  
"Hey man, no way!" Manny yelped. "The damn building's on  
  
fire!"  
  
"Then it'll be a nice preview of hell for you three. Get  
  
in."  
  
Ben, still in terrible pain, summoned up all of his  
  
diplomacy skills. "At least let Agent Scully go," he  
  
begged.  
  
"Get in there," Leo came closer to them, shotgun pointed at  
  
Scully's chest.  
  
"For God's sake, she's got a child!" Ben tried one last  
  
time. "Just let her go, man!"  
  
Leo raised the gun to Scully's head.  
  
As calmly as she could, Scully said "It's okay Ben, we'll  
  
do as he says." She slowly began backing into the room.  
  
"Manny, come on, cooperate." Manny, wide-eyed, coughing,  
  
followed Scully and Ben.  
  
Leo flung the door shut, locked it and went off in search  
  
of Starkweather.  
  
There was no light in the storeroom and was becoming  
  
unbearably hot. "Oh my God," Manny said, gagging on the  
  
smoke. "We're gonna die."  
  
"Manny," Scully snapped. "We don't have time for pessimism.  
  
Do you still have that flashlight?"  
  
In the stifling darkness, Manny managed to fumble the  
  
little Mag-Lite flashlight to her. Scully switched it on  
  
and took a look-see. Her heart began to falter. Maybe Manny  
  
was right...  
  
But Ben had a strange silly little grin on his face. "Hey  
  
Agent Scully..." he said, looking up at the low ceiling.  
  
"Yeah..." Scully buried her face in the crook of her elbow  
  
to cough  
  
Ben was just as big of a movie buff as Jerilyn was, one of  
  
the many reasons why they were attracted to eachother in  
  
the beginning. "Ever see the movie 'The Breakfast Club'?"  
  
Scully looked up at the ceiling panels and grinned, knowing  
  
exactly what Ben was talking about.  
  
Meanwhile....  
  
Fleeing into the office, Sam shut the door behind him.  
  
"This isn't good," Starkweather informed everybody.  
  
"Thank you Captain Obvious," Mulder snapped back at her.  
  
"Eat me."  
  
"I lost my gun," Sam told them. "Are you two still armed?"  
  
Starkweather and Mulder both pulled out their guns and  
  
scurried to the door. Sweat poured down Mulder's brow and  
  
he wiped his cheek on his shoulder. When Billy got off the  
  
catwalk and climbed onto the balcony, Mulder and  
  
Starkweather both stepped out and fired point-blank range  
  
at the replicant. Billy staggered backwards. When their  
  
clips were empty, Sam rushed the monster, just like how he  
  
used to rush the quarterback during high school football.  
  
With one gigantic push, Sam forced Billy over the edge of  
  
the balcony and Billy plummented back into the sea of  
  
flames below.  
  
Al popped in. "Nice shot Sam! Now get those kids," he  
  
jerked his head, indicating Mulder and Starkweather, "out  
  
of here."  
  
The heat drove Sam back inside the office. Just then,  
  
enough smoke had filtered upwards to trigger the sprinkler  
  
system. A weak spray of water coated everything, doing  
  
little to alleviate the inferno below. "We've got to find  
  
Scully and Manny!" Mulder told Sam, gagging on the smoke.  
  
"Ben might be here too," Starkweather said to Sam.  
  
"They're okay," Al told Sam. "Scully's in the process of  
  
getting Benny-boy and Manny out as we speak. They're gonna  
  
be fine. You guys are gonna get cooked, literally if you  
  
don't get out of here!"  
  
"Come on," Sam grabbed Starkweather by the arm and took her  
  
out of the hallway through the other door in the office.  
  
Mulder followed.  
  
"Scully!!" Sam cried out. "Ben! Manny, Scully!"  
  
Mulder and Starkweather joined in on the chorus.  
  
Starkweather turned around. "Jesus Jumping Christ, Mulder!"  
  
she pushed Mulder out of the way just as Justin Leo came  
  
out of the shadows and fired Scully's handgun at them. The  
  
shot barely missed them. The three of them started to run.  
  
"Come on, Sam!" Mulder yelled, completely forgetting that  
  
Starkweather had no knowledge of the Quantum Leap Project  
  
and was under the illusion that Doggett was still Doggett.  
  
Not that Starkweather was particularly paying attention.  
  
"Over here!" she cried and darted up a stairwell that lead  
  
to the rooftop. Sam and Mulder followed.  
  
So did Justin Leo.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Inside the storage room, Scully instructed Manny, "Lift me  
  
up first."  
  
Manny crouched down, Scully clammered on top of his  
  
shoulders. The smoke was building up. Coughing, Manny stood  
  
up carefully. Ben leaned against the wall, cold sweat  
  
covering his face as he was still in horrible pain. Scully  
  
weaved a bit, got her bearings, then reached for the fake  
  
ceiling panel and lifted it up easily. She reached and  
  
grabbed the pipe that was directly above her head. She  
  
started to pullherself up. Manny gave her a bit of a boost  
  
up and Scully was able to get up. Scootching herself into  
  
the ceiling, she leaned over the edge, reaching her arms  
  
out to down below. "Help Ben up, and hurry!" she yelled,  
  
gagging from the smoke.  
  
Manny went to Ben, "Okay, hombre," Manny said sorrowfully.  
  
"This is gonna probably hurt. Lo siento, lo siento."  
  
"Okay," Ben got up, wincing, clutching his ribs. "Let's get  
  
out of this hellhole."  
  
Manny, despite his wiry, weenie appearance, was actually  
  
fairly strong. He wrapped his arms around Ben's middle and  
  
lifted Ben up. Ben tried to stifle a cry of pain, but  
  
couldn't help it. "Lo siento, lo siento!" Manny yelled out  
  
again.  
  
Scully grabbed Ben's wrists and pulled him up. Once Ben was  
  
up, she reached back down, "Come on Manny!" Just then, she  
  
heard Starkweather cry out "Jesus Jumping Christ,  
  
Mulder!!!" and then a gunshot.  
  
"Oh my God," Scully turned her head towards the sound.  
  
"Manny come on!" Manny jumped, missed Scully's hands.  
  
"Manny, come on!!"  
  
Manny jumped again, this time grabbing Scully's hand.  
  
Scully tried to pull him up, but couldn't get the leverage.  
  
Scully could hear commotion in the hallway with  
  
Starkweather screaming at Mulder adn Sam-in-Doggett to  
  
follow her Follow her where? Scully wondered wildly.  
  
Suddenly, a pair of sooty, bloodied hands clamped down on  
  
hers. Ben, despite his own injuries, had crawled over to  
  
Scully's side to help her pull up Manny. Together they got  
  
him out of their prison.  
  
"Let's get out of here!" Manny suggested and Scully and Ben  
  
decided that was an excellent idea. They crawled through  
  
the ceiling, coughing all the while. The smoke was thick,  
  
almost blinding now.  
  
As they crawled, Scully had a hideous thought. "Guys,  
  
wasn't there a scene in 'The Breakfast Club' where the  
  
ceiling panels colla-"  
  
The ceiling panels collapsed and Scully, Manny and Ben  
  
tumbled down into the hallway.  
  
Starkweather made her way up the ladder.  
  
"SCUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYYYY!" She heard Mulder call out  
  
at the top of his lungs below her.  
  
"Mulder, RUN!!!" Sam was bellowing at top of his lungs  
  
"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" She  
  
emphasized each step back down the latter with a swear, and  
  
drew her gun. "Mulder, don't panick yet. There's a roof up  
  
here, there's a river. We've just gotta get to the river."  
  
Mulder began to protest, but Billy Miles still staggerred  
  
forward, and Leo, who had been firing shaky shots at Sam  
  
and Mulder the whole chase, had just dropped his gun.  
  
"LIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!" Leo screamed,  
  
lurching forward at Starkweather as soon as she had emerged  
  
from the ladder.  
  
"No...Not Lily...me Jeri, you psychoboy."  
  
"They just programmed you to say that..." he stammered,  
  
backing away from her slowly, "they gave you this whole new  
  
identity..."  
  
"Leo," Mulder cautioned in his flat monotone, "I know  
  
people who can help you find the answers you want. I know  
  
you think she's Lilly but it's not her, Justin. It's not  
  
her."  
  
"Mulder duck!" Starkweather screamed, for Billy Miles had  
  
wrenched a pipe free from the warehouse and was about to  
  
swing at him.  
  
"Starkweather GO!" Sam yelled.  
  
Mulder managed to grab onto the pipe in one of his swings,  
  
but Leo pushed the bar out of Mulder's grip and ran up the  
  
stairs.  
  
"STARKWEATHER!" Mulder bellowed after her.  
  
Leo pursued the monster up the ladder, visibly coiling at  
  
the pain in his arm.  
  
"LEO!" Mulder called out futiley. He didn't seem to be in  
  
tune with anything else around him.  
  
"Hang on, Lily! I'm coming!" Leo shouted after  
  
Starkweather.  
  
Billy Miles was inching closer on Starkweather.  
  
"Sam," Mulder said in panicked realization, "That thing is  
  
going after me, Starkweather...and Will."  
  
"Not if we can hit it off at the pass." Sam offered, "Come  
  
on!" he urged unecessarily, and then began the ascent up  
  
the ladder, followed closely by Mulder.  
  
There, they watched as Leo threw his own body in between  
  
Billy Miles and Starkweather. Starkweather, Mulder, and Sam  
  
both watched in horror as the two wrestled their way off of  
  
the rooftop, and down into the river.  
  
Al popped in just in time to see Leo and Billy Miles  
  
plummetting down to the rapids of the Patomac River.  
  
"Agent Starkweather, Ben's ok, you just gotta get off this  
  
warehouse in a few minutes before it blows to kingdom come!  
  
Ben and Scully and Manny are all outta there, and they'll  
  
be just fine! You gotta jump into that river, you here me!  
  
JUMP!"  
  
"Mulder, I hope you know how to doggy-paddle."  
  
Starkweather stared down at the roaring Patomac for a few  
  
seconds, faced down, closed her eyes, and heard Sam's  
  
splash. Then she muttered something and pushed Mulder  
  
forward towards the raging rapids. Then she dove in  
  
herself. Being summer, the water wasn't cold, but the storm  
  
made it colder than usual.  
  
"Starkweather!" Sam was calling out frantically. "Doc!"  
  
"Over here, Papa John!"  
  
"Mulder?!" Sam called out treading water next as  
  
Starkweather scrambled to the banks, watching the building  
  
being swallowed in bright orange flames.  
  
"MULDER!!" She called out as soon as she made it safely to  
  
the bank  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
As they crawled, Scully had a hideous thought. "Guys,  
  
wasn't there a scene in 'The Breakfast Club' where the  
  
ceiling panels colla-"  
  
The ceiling panels collapsed and Scully, Manny and Ben  
  
tumbled down into the hallway.  
  
Buried underneath ceiling crumbles and two men, Scully  
  
mumbled "Could you please get off of me?"  
  
At the sound of the crash, Sam-in-Doggett and Mulder  
  
jumped. They had only started going up the stairs that led  
  
to the ladder up to the roof. Starkweather had already  
  
begun to ascend to the roof. Mulder pushed past Sam. He saw  
  
Leo coming after them with Scully's gun. He also saw Billy  
  
Miles fling open the door and head towards them.  
  
He walked right over Ben, Scully and Manny, not even  
  
noticing them.  
  
"SCULLY!" Mulder cried...  
  
Starkweather, meanwhile had almost gotten to the roof,  
  
heard Mulder's cries. "Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit,  
  
dammit...." she cursed on her way down to retrieve her  
  
partner and her half-brother.  
  
While the chaos with Leo, the monster, the agent, the time-  
  
travler and the Deputy Mayor ensued, Scully, shaken that  
  
she, again, had been so close to the monster who was sent  
  
to steal her child but at the last minute, did not, got up  
  
to chase him. But Manny grabbed her, "Agent Scully, PLEASE,  
  
let's get OUT OF HERE!!! Senor Starkweather needs a doctor,  
  
pronto. Por favor, vamos por la amor del Dios!" Poor Manny  
  
was so frightened, he lapsed into Spanish.  
  
But Scully caught the gist. Plus Ben, after all that  
  
lifting and pulling and crawling and falling with his  
  
broken ribs not to mention the smoke inhalation everyone  
  
was suffering, was in really bad shape.  
  
The doorframe to the staircase leading down to the  
  
mainfloor of the warehouse just caught fire. Scully heard  
  
the building crack and groan, on the very verge of total  
  
collapse. "Help him." Scully ordered Manny, heart pounding  
  
in fear, fear for Mulder, for Starkweather, for Sam-in-  
  
Doggett.  
  
Manny slung Ben on his back, piggy back and made a run for  
  
the open window at the end of the hallway. "There's a fire  
  
escape!" he yelled in glad relief.  
  
Why didn't Mulder and the others go out this way?  
  
Scully wondered. Probably because with a gun-wielding nut  
  
and blood-thirsty replicant at their tails, they probably  
  
weren't thinking very rationally.  
  
"Go, go, go!!!" Scully said.  
  
Manny swung out the window. "Hold on tight, amigo," he told  
  
Ben as he started to climb out. Scully followed...  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Assistant Director Skinner was in the squad car with  
  
Detective Edward Carillo as they went flying towards the  
  
warehouse. They were still a good half-mile away when they  
  
were able to see the flames. "Holy God," Carillo said.  
  
Skinner sighed. The man didn't even work for him anymore...  
  
how was it still possible that massive destruction of  
  
property occurred whenever Mulder was involved with  
  
something? "Let's just hope that people are still alive,  
  
Detective," Skinner said curtly.  
  
In the distance, the sirens from fire trucks and ambulances  
  
blended into on hellish wail. Skinner felt physically ill  
  
as he thought of the devil's deal he made with that smoking  
  
bast*rd. He hoped there was someone to pull out from the  
  
wreckage.  
  
Half a block away, all the closer they could get, the squad  
  
car squealled to a halt. Carillo and Skinner fairly flew  
  
from the car, guns drawn.  
  
Two sooty figures were running from the building. As they  
  
got closer, Carillo and Skinner realized that it was three  
  
people, one was piggybacked on the other and obviously  
  
injured. As they got even closer, Skinner realized who they  
  
were and his heart leapt in joy.  
  
"DANA!" he cried, holstering his gun. Forgetting propriety,  
  
he engulfed Scully into the bearhug he would have given a  
  
long-lost daughter if he had even taken a break from his  
  
career to have a family. "Thank God," Skinner broke away,  
  
remembering himself. "You alright?"  
  
"I'm fine," Scully said, "but this man needs to get to a  
  
hospital ASAP." Manny slid Ben off his back and laid him on  
  
the ground.  
  
Carillo crouched down. "Well, I'll be damned," he said in  
  
wonder. "Mr. Starkweather, there's gonna be a whole lot of  
  
people happy to see you, sir."  
  
Ben clutched at the detective's jacket. "You're not taking  
  
me anywhere until somebody gets Jeri off that damn roof."  
  
"WHAT?!" Skinner and Carillo unintentionally spoke in  
  
unison.  
  
"Jeri, my wife, she came for me," Ben coughed, feeling the  
  
effects of smoke inhalation. "Jeri, her partner John  
  
Doggett and her brother Fox Mulder-"  
  
"Mulder?" Carillo looked up at the building, almost totally  
  
engulfed in flames. "Mulder was implicated in your  
  
disappearance, Mr. Starkweather."  
  
"Brother??" Skinner was lost, which was nothing new.  
  
"Mulder?" Ben looked completely confused. "What the hell  
  
for?"  
  
"Sir," Scully said urgently, "I strongly recommend you call  
  
a SWAT team. Billy Miles is up on that roof."  
  
"WHAT!??" Skinner squawked. He pulled out his cell phone  
  
and was about to dial when Manny said:  
  
"Not any more," he pointed to two figures plummenting into  
  
the roaring Potomac River.  
  
"Who was that with them?" Skinner asked.  
  
"I don't know, sir," Scully felt panic butterflies  
  
fluttering in her stomach. "I can't see." Smoke curled out  
  
of the windows in thick plumes...  
  
In a non-descript car, much like Nero while Rome burned,  
  
the Cigarette Smoking Man watched the scenario  
  
expressionlessly. He sighed. It was out of his hands now.  
  
If Mulder and Starkweather were killed, problem solved. If  
  
they lived... well... there was always next time. At least  
  
they were able smuggle the vial of Purity out of the  
  
country easily. And he was pretty sure Ben's case with the  
  
oil company would be closed down. At least two of the four  
  
major objectives were achieved. "Drive," he ordered the  
  
driver dryly as he lit a cigarette. The car disappeared  
  
from the scene unnoticed just as the Admiral's car pulled  
  
up. The Admiral got out of his car, saw Scully and Ben with  
  
the others but did not approach them, not yet.  
  
Fire trucks were lining up, hooking up the hoses to the  
  
hydrants, brave men and women in their bright yellow suits  
  
and oxygen masks started to run towards the building. One  
  
of them reached the doorway and turned back, motioning his  
  
fellow firefighters to turn back.  
  
"She's gonna blow!!!!" He yelled.  
  
Just then, a figure leapt from the roof. "That looked like  
  
Doggett!" Scully cried as Sam-in-Doggett hit the water.  
  
Then another male figure plummented into the river please  
  
let that be Mulder! she prayed. And finally a female form  
  
dove into the Potomac. Scully knew that was Starkweather.  
  
Scully left Skinner, Ben and Manny and ran towards the  
  
shore.  
  
"Mulder, I hope you know how to doggy-paddle."  
  
Starkweather stared down at the roaring Patomac for a few  
  
seconds, faced down, closed her eyes, and heard Sam's  
  
splash. Then she muttered something and pushed Mulder  
  
forward towards the raging rapids. Then she dove in  
  
herself. Being summer, the water wasn't cold, but the storm  
  
made it colder than usual.  
  
"Starkweather!" Sam was calling out frantically. "Doc!"  
  
"Over here, Papa John!"  
  
"Mulder?!" Sam called out treading water next as  
  
Starkweather scrambled to the banks, watching the building  
  
being swallowed in bright orange flames.  
  
"MULDER!!" She called out as soon as she made it safely to  
  
the bank. "Oh sweet Jesus," she said, for once, in prayer.  
  
She bellowed again: "**MULDER!!**"  
  
Meanwhile, Sam dove back under the water. He forced himself  
  
to open his eyes underwater, but could see nothing. His  
  
lungs screamed for oxygen so with a kick of the legs, he  
  
swam upwards. He burst up to the surface. "MULDER!!"  
  
Scully saw Starkweather standing on the shoreline, looking  
  
out at the river and starting running. "Agent  
  
Starkweather!" she cried. "Where's Doggett?! Where's  
  
Mulder?!"  
  
Starkweather felt sick to her stomach. She blinked back  
  
tears. "I don't know..."  
  
Scully felt her heart drop. "What do you mean you don't  
  
know?!?" Scully cupped her hands around her mouth, "MULDER!  
  
MULDER!!!"  
  
Starkweather closed her eyes in horror. She put her hand  
  
over her mouth while Scully cried out Mulder's name.  
  
Sam, treading water, turned to his left and gasped  
  
Mulder was floating about three yards away from him, face  
  
down in the water. "Oh no, oh no, oh no," Sam gasped as he  
  
swam towards him. "MULDER!" Sam reached for his arm and  
  
pulled him towards him. He flipped him over to his back.  
  
His eyes were closed, his mouth was open. "Oh boy, c'mon  
  
Mulder, don't do this!" Sam cried as he wrapped one arm  
  
around Mulder's chest and began swimming for shore.  
  
"Starkweather!" Sam cried out. "Starkweather!!"  
  
Starkweather's eyes popped open at the sound of her name.  
  
"Doggett!!" she answered back. "Oh my God!!" she cried when  
  
she saw Sam dragging Mulder to shore. She leaped back into  
  
the river and waded out to them.  
  
Scully followed Starkweather, not noticing the biting chill  
  
of the water. "What happened? What's going on?" She then  
  
saw that Mulder was not moving at all. "Oh God! Mulder!"  
  
"Get help, Scully," Sam yelled at her as he and  
  
Starkweather brought Mulder to dry land and laid him on the  
  
ground. Starkweather put her ear to Mulder's mouth. "He's  
  
not breathing."  
  
"Doggett, do you know CPR?"  
  
"Yes." Sam instantly snapped into doctor-mode and crouched  
  
by Mulder's chest. "Scully go!!" Scully hesitated for the  
  
slightest second, perhaps reminded of that horrible time  
  
when he had been found dead in that field in Montana. But  
  
she ran for the paramedics.  
  
"Start chest compressions," orderd Dr. Starkweather.  
  
Dr. Beckett pressed his big hands into Mulder's sterum.  
  
"One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand,  
  
breathe!!"  
  
Dr. Starkweather clamped her mouth over Mulder's mouth and  
  
nose and puffed air into his lungs. "Nothing, chest  
  
compressions."  
  
"One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand,  
  
breathe." Sam pumped Mulder's chest. "Come on Mulder,  
  
dammit."  
  
Starkweather puffed air through Mulder's mouth to his lungs  
  
again. "Nothing. God dammit Mulder," Starkweather yelled at  
  
him as Sam pumped at his chest again. "Don't you fucking  
  
die on us."  
  
"One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand,  
  
breathe, dammit, Mulder, breathe!!" Sam begged him.  
  
Just as Starkweather was about to bend down to breathe for  
  
him again, Mulder gagged. River water trickled out of his  
  
mouth. He tried to sit up. Starkweather and Sam helped him  
  
up as he started to vomit water.  
  
"Easy does it, easy does it," Starkweather said in her best  
  
bedside manner voice. She smoothed his hair back from his  
  
brow. "My God, you have more lives than a cat," she said,  
  
voice shaking from relief.  
  
Mulder gulped air in great whooshes. He looked at  
  
Starkweather. "You... performed... C... PR?" Starkweather  
  
nodded. "If... this... was.. Arkansas, I'd... I'd be turned  
  
on right now," he grinned at her even as his body was  
  
wracked with dry heaves.  
  
"You asshole," Starkweather gave him a well-meaning thump  
  
to his shoulder. Sam sighed in relief and helped him stand  
  
up.  
  
Scully just came sprinting down the slope again with two  
  
paramedics in tow. When she saw Mulder standing, leaning on  
  
Sam, but still standing up, she flew towards him. "Mulder!!  
  
Mulder!! You're alright!!!" she said joyously as she  
  
approached him.  
  
Mulder stared at her. "Who are you?"  
  
Scully stared, mouth dropping open. Then she punched  
  
Mulder in the gut."Dammit, Mulder, that routine wasn't  
  
funny the first time you did that, and it's not funny now..."  
  
Mulder leaned into Scully and hugged her.  
  
"Sorry, I couldn't resist," Mulder mumbled into her hair.  
  
"Do you need us then?" One of the paramedics asked.  
  
Sam told him. "I think he'll be okay. Probably just needs  
  
bedrest and Agent Scully's a medical doctor, I think she'll  
  
look after him. But maybe you should come and look at Agent  
  
Starkweather's leg..." Sam turned to find Starkweather  
  
standing apart from everyone, holding herself, staring at  
  
the burning warehouse.  
  
"Starkweather," Scully said, supporting Mulder. "We found  
  
Ben."  
  
Starkweather turned around. "What?"  
  
"He's fine, he's hurt, but he's going to be fine, he's with  
  
Skinner..."  
  
But Starkweather didn't wait for Scully to finish her  
  
sentence. She took off towards the flashing lights of the  
  
fire trucks and police cars.  
  
Ben was being loaded up onto a stretcher despite his  
  
protests. He lifted his head one more time to argue with  
  
the paramedics that he wasn't going anywhere when he heard  
  
someone crying out his name.  
  
"Ben!! Ben!!"  
  
"Jesus, guys, stop!!" Ben told the paramedics on last time  
  
as Jerilyn ran to the ambulance. She pushed past the  
  
paramedics. "Oh my God!!" she wept as she took his hands  
  
and kissed him full on the mouth. "Oh my God," she said  
  
again as she ran her fingers through his hair. "What did  
  
they do to you?" she choked out through her tears.  
  
"Broken ribs mostly, lots of bruising, we're taking him to  
  
the hospital to make sure there's nothing else ma'am," the  
  
medic said patronizingly.  
  
"Don't talk to her like she's an idiot," Ben told him.  
  
"She's a doctor and she carries a big gun."  
  
The paramedics backed off, just a little.  
  
"I thought I'd never see you again," she sniffled as Ben  
  
wiped tears off her cheeks. She clutched his hands. "I'm so  
  
sorry, I'm so sorry you got dragged into all of this."  
  
"They told me," Ben nodded his head to Carillo and Skinner,  
  
who had been hovering over him like angry mother bears the  
  
entire time, "that someone was trying to frame MULDER for  
  
my MURDER? Are they serious?"  
  
Jerilyn nodded. "Oh Jesus, Ben. It was insane. This whole  
  
thing... and we don't even know WHY they did this to us..."  
  
She tried to gulp back the tears.  
  
"I don't think we'll ever know," Ben said helplessly. "But  
  
everything's okay now, Jeri. I promise, everything's going  
  
to be okay now." He wiped more tears from Jeri's face even  
  
as his own eyes welled. "Hey. Hey now... big bad FBI broads  
  
don't cry." His voice cracked.  
  
"Neither do Councilors," she whispered as she kissed his  
  
hand. "Oh!" she suddenly realized and started digging into  
  
her pocket. She pulled out his wedding band. "Missing  
  
something?" she said with a teary smile as she slid his  
  
wedding ring back on its rightful place.  
  
"Mrs. Starkweather," the medic told her gently. "We really  
  
need to get him to the hospital. But you can ride along if  
  
you like..."  
  
Ben answered for Jerilyn. "She's got FBI stuff to do  
  
first," Ben said, intertwining his fingers with hers and  
  
giving her a squeeze. "Plus, I'm guessing," he chuckled,  
  
"she might want some dry clothes. Hell..." he grinned,  
  
feeling better by just seeing Jerilyn again, "*I* would  
  
like some clean clothes myself. I've been wearing the same  
  
boxers for about a week now and they're beginning to  
  
chafe."  
  
That did it. Jerilyn smiled spontaneously and joyously for  
  
the first time since the ordeal began. "Are you sure,  
  
baby?"  
  
"I'll see you at the hospital, Jeri," Ben kissed her hand  
  
again. "While you're at it, smuggle me some beers and  
  
Caesar for me."  
  
"Deal," Jerilyn leaned over and kissed Ben on the lips  
  
again. "I love you Counselor."  
  
"I love you too," Ben reached up with his free hand and  
  
stroked her hair. "And I did learn one thing from this  
  
whole clusterfuck."  
  
"What?" Jerilyn finally released his hand and let the  
  
paramedics do their job.  
  
As the paramedics lifted the stretcher into the ambulance,  
  
Ben said "I'm gonna leave this X-File sh*t to the experts,"  
  
with a groan.  
  
Just as the paramedics shut the door to the ambulance,  
  
Scully, Mulder and Sam-in-Doggett approached Starkweather  
  
and Skinner. "Mulder," Skinner asked gruffly "how many  
  
guardian angels do you have???"  
  
Mulder, still leaning on Scully replied in all seriousness.  
  
"It's got to be up in the thousands."  
  
"I don't mean to alarm you, but you should be aware, the  
  
police and federal agents are making a sweep of the area,  
  
but so far, there is no trace of Billy Miles or Justin  
  
Leo."  
  
"Typical," Mulder snorted. "Slipped through our fingers  
  
again."  
  
"I've sent agents to all of your respective homes for  
  
survelliance, just in case one of them rears their ugly  
  
heads. That's all we can really do for now." Skinner said.  
  
"And now," he said impatiently, "can someone explain to me  
  
how YOU," he looked at Mulder "are related to HER," he  
  
looked at Starkweather.  
  
Mulder opened his mouth to speak but whatever he was about  
  
to say was lost for the Admiral finally approached the  
  
group.  
  
"Jerilyn," the Admiral reached for her. Jerilyn recoiled,  
  
anger clouding her face.  
  
"You..." she said bitterly. "You knew about this the entire  
  
time... you had to of..."  
  
"Jerilyn?" The Admiral stole a glance to Scully, who only  
  
glared at him stonily. "Honey, what are you talking about?  
  
I came into town when we thought Ben was gon-"  
  
"Liar," she hissed. The Admiral looked as if she had  
  
slapped him. "You were planning on coming into town before  
  
all of this happened to meet with KERSH, of all people. I  
  
saw it in his planner. I heard your guys' phone  
  
conversation."  
  
The Admiral knew when he was defeated. "Jerilyn," he said  
  
painfully. "Everything I did, was to protect you."  
  
"Then why didn't you tell me the truth when I came to  
  
Sedona last April?"  
  
"The truth would have killed you," the Admiral protested.  
  
Starkweather glowered at him. "It already has."  
  
The Admiral had to make one last try. "Jerilyn, everything  
  
I have done, everything I have lived for was to protect  
  
YOU. I know I haven't been the perfect father bu-"  
  
"My father is dead."  
  
"Jerilyn," the Admiral sighed. "That's a little extreme. I  
  
know you're upset with me bu-"  
  
"NO." Jerilyn took a step away from him. "MY father," she  
  
turned to face Mulder. "is dead. He was murdered by a man  
  
named Alex Krycek." She turned to face the Admiral again.  
  
"Does that ring any bells?"  
  
The Admiral looked to Mulder, Scully, Skinner and Sam-in-  
  
Doggett for help. All he received were unsympathetic, angry  
  
glares. "You were never meant to find out," he said lamely.  
  
"Ben was almost killed tonight," Starkweather said angrily.  
  
"And you know about it the entire time and didn't lift a  
  
finger to stop anything, did you?"  
  
The Admiral could have argued that point, but one look in  
  
her eyes told him that any further debate on the subject  
  
would be an exercise in futility. He lowered his head and  
  
walked away.  
  
Yes, he had saved her life... but he had lost her forever.  
  
After the Admiral had left, Mulder said softly to  
  
Starkweather, "I'm sorry, Jerilyn." Only Mulder could truly  
  
sympathize with how devastating it is, even to an adult  
  
child, to be completely dillusioned by their hero, their  
  
parent that they had adored.  
  
Starkweather turned to Mulder. Despite all of her not-so-  
  
outstanding qualities, her one redeeming characteristic was  
  
that if she was wrong, she admitted it. "No, Mulder.  
  
**I'm** sorry. I should have known better." Everyone  
  
breathed a sigh of relief as Starkweather and Mulder  
  
finally shook hands and ended the duel of wills.  
  
But Mulder continued with the snipe-war as he thumped  
  
Starkweather on the shoulder and said "See you at the  
  
family reunion. Maybe this year you'll get to sit with the  
  
adults."  
  
"As if you have any experience in being an adult."  
  
"Well, I do have at least twelve years on you, baby  
  
sister."  
  
"Oh do NOT start calling me 'baby sister', I will fucking  
  
deck you again."  
  
"Tsk tsk little Hurricane, such foul language from a  
  
pristine lady."  
  
"Hurricane!?" Starkweather spluttered. "Now, listen here,  
  
*Spooky*-"  
  
"Both of you!" Scully snapped in her best "Mom" voice.  
  
"Unless you two want to sit in the corner for the rest of  
  
the night, Enough!"  
  
"He started it," Starkweather whined.  
  
"She hit me," Mulder whined right back. "She broke my nose  
  
when I got arrested."  
  
"It was an easy target, big schnozz that it is."  
  
"Alright you little twerp-"  
  
"You're BOTH sitting at the kids' table for the holiday  
  
meals!" Scully yelled at them. "Maybe William can teach you  
  
two some manners."  
  
"Agent Scully," Detective Carillo, stifling guffaws, said  
  
"since the Deputy Mayor is cleared of all charges, why  
  
don't you take him home before these two tear each other  
  
apart."  
  
"An excellent suggestion," Scully said with a relieved  
  
sigh. "I know there's a certain little boy who's eager to  
  
see you."  
  
"Later Hurricane," Mulder, still leaning against Scully,  
  
limped towards Skinner's car, volunteering him to give them  
  
a ride home.  
  
"I'm gonna buy your kid a drum, Mulder!" Starkweather  
  
threatened.  
  
Mulder, as usual, had the winning shot with "Good, I'll  
  
have him bring it over when you babysit him."  
  
Sam shook his head. As entertaining as the Mulder and  
  
Starkweather show was... he couldn't help but wonder...  
  
If everything's okay now... why haven't I leapt?  
  
Al popped in again. "Well, everything's turning out to be  
  
pretty okay," he told Sam. "The plague, obviously, never  
  
happened and aliens never took over the world." He thumped  
  
his comlink. "Mulder gets reinstated to his Deputy Mayor  
  
job, which he does for another year before... before..." he  
  
hit the comlink and it squawked at him. "Before going to  
  
work for the CIA as a consultant? That's scary. Anyway...  
  
Scully ends up leaving the X-Files in about two years, but  
  
she's still around to help out Reyes, Doggett and  
  
Starkweather every now and again. And... on September 10,  
  
2010, those two crazy kids finally tie the knot in a  
  
private ceremony at Mulder's childhood home in Martha's  
  
Vineyard. And even though they're not with the FBI anymore,  
  
they're both kept on retainer to consult on X-File cases.  
  
So a big shiny happy ending for those two. It only took  
  
them," Al did the math, "met in 1993.... only took them  
  
seventeen years."  
  
"What about Starkweather? Do she and Ben work out their  
  
differences?" Sam asked.  
  
Al consulted his comlink. A look of pain crosses his face.  
  
"I'm sorry Sam," Al said. "Ben's out of the picture by  
  
Christmas time."  
  
"What?!" Sam's shoulder's slumped. "Does that mean I have  
  
to stay here until Christmas to help those two repair their  
  
marriage?"  
  
"I don't think so Sam," Al said quietly. "Believe me,  
  
speaking as a man quite experienced in the ways of failed  
  
relationships, somethings aren't just meant to last."  
  
"Then why am I still here Al?"  
  
"Ziggy?" Al consulted the super-computer. "What's the word?  
  
Why're we still here??" Al looked down at his comlink.  
  
"What the hell...." Al's brow furrowed in confusion. He  
  
chewed on his cigar for a bit. "Well... according to  
  
Ziggy... she says that for you to leap now... you have  
  
to..." he read aloud from the comlink. "say goodbye to  
  
Starkweather and start the Doggett-Starkweather-Relationship.  
  
What the hell does that mean? Ziggy! Translate!"  
  
"She doesn't have to," Sam said, a little sadly, looking at  
  
Starkweather, who was giving her statement to Detective  
  
Carillo. "I know what she means. Al... can you promise me  
  
something?"  
  
"Anything buddy," Al said.  
  
Sam took a deep breath. "Whenever something is going wrong  
  
with a future leap and it looks totally impossible... break  
  
a rule and remind me of Starkweather. Of her strength. Her  
  
loyalty. Her preserverance."  
  
"You got it Sam," Al promised. "Go. Say goodbye."  
  
Sam-in-Doggett went up to Starkweather. He grabbed a gray  
  
flannel blanket from one of the lingering paramedics and  
  
wrapped it around Starkweather's shoulders. "Are you  
  
finished here?" Sam asked Carillo.  
  
"All done," Carillo put his notebook in his jacket pocket.  
  
"Get some rest you two. Good night." And Carillo walked  
  
away, pleased that one of his cases finally had a happy  
  
ending.  
  
"How're you doing, Starkweather?" Sam asked her, wrapping  
  
the blanket tighter around her, making her look like a  
  
papoose.  
  
She shrugged. "Tired. Estatic. Angry. Tired. Thrilled.  
  
Scared. Tired. Did I mention tired??"  
  
Sam laughed. "No. Are you tired?" he teased her.  
  
"I could sleep for a thousand years," she groaned.  
  
"Doggett... you were right. About Mulder. About Ben. About  
  
everything. I couldn't have gotten through this nightmare  
  
without you."  
  
"That's what I'm here for," Sam said.  
  
"And I count on that," she replied. She opened her arms and  
  
engulfed Sam in the world's biggest hug.  
  
"Thank you for helping me find Ben."  
  
"You're a special lady, Starkweather," Sam said in her ear.  
  
"Don't ever forget that. Don't ever forget that I said  
  
that." Sam stepped away. Trying to figure out how to do  
  
what he needed to do. To say goodbye. To lead Starkweather  
  
towards the path where she was meant to go.  
  
To put right what once went wrong.  
  
And Sam realized what he needed to do. It was so simple. It  
  
was safe, and yet not. Everyone had seen Mulder and Scully  
  
do it a thousand times.  
  
He put his hands on Starkweather's shoulders and kissed her  
  
forehead.  
  
Al looked at his comlink and smiled. "Goodbye  
  
Starkweather," Al said as he and Sam vanished in blaze of  
  
blinding blue light.  
  
John Doggett opened his eyes and saw Starkweather standing  
  
in front of him, soaking wet, wrapped in a gray blanket,  
  
smiling at him. I'm back Doggett realized. Then instantly  
  
thought: where did I go??  
  
"Starkweather, what the hell happened to you?" Doggett  
  
turned and saw the blazing building that the fire fighters  
  
were still trying to put out. "Oh my God... what the hell  
  
happened here?"  
  
"Doggett, I think we'll be trying to figure that out for  
  
years," she said, still smiling. "Come on Papa John, you  
  
better come to the hospital with me. It looks like you  
  
might be concussed."  
  
Doggett put his arm over Starkweather's shoulder and  
  
together they walked to his waiting pickup truck.  
  
It never felt so good to hear her call him 'Papa John'  
  
before.  
  
  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
J Edgar Hoover Building  
  
April 27, 2016; 9:14 AM  
  
With another upsurge of paranormal cases on the horizon and  
  
FBI agents' talents being currently directed on security  
  
issues, it was time for A.D. Starkweather to assign the  
  
head of her old division a new partner. Agent Reyes was  
  
talented, and had a high success rate in investigating  
  
paranormal cases, but nobody could work alone in those  
  
conditions for very long. Besides, if she didn't assign  
  
somebody soon, it looked as though she would have to shut  
  
the division down. She made a promise to somebody a long  
  
time ago that she wouldn't allow that to happen as long as  
  
she could do something about it.  
  
One applicant seemed to stand out in the screaning process  
  
for the job. A physicist's daughter who had graduated five  
  
years ago from MIT was an Alabama native, Samantha Jo  
  
Fuller had specialized in quantum mechanics both in  
  
Quantico and in her work with unspecified government  
  
projects. According to her superiors in New Mexico, she had  
  
medical training at Quantico and developed quite a flare  
  
for profiling, and from experience Starkweather knew that  
  
the basement office could use that kind of expertise.  
  
Starkweather was on the phone when the applicant came in.  
  
She motioned the new agent to come in, smiling  
  
apologetically. The young woman, who appeared to be in her  
  
late twenties twirled her honey-wheat hair nervously around  
  
her index finger. She tentatively sat down, and brushed her  
  
one white strand that accentuated her face.  
  
"Yes, I know we need all the manpower we can get on this  
  
case, but I just can't close that office to accommodate  
  
you." Starkweather was insisting. At her next remark, the  
  
girl jumped. "The FBI's investigation into the paranormal  
  
has been justified for nearly TEN YEARS now...no...we need  
  
Agent Reyes in that office. If you have issues with that  
  
you can take it up with Deputy Director Doggett." She  
  
barked, and slamming down the phone, smiled sweetly at the  
  
woman who just came in.  
  
"Before you enlisted in the FBI, what was that project that  
  
you worked on in New Mexico?"  
  
"That's classified ma'am." The new agent said flatly. She  
  
was uncomfortable calling someone who looked her age ma'am,  
  
but she wasn't about to start a new position on a sour  
  
note. Starkweather inwardly grimaced at being called ma'am.  
  
"My sources tell me it had something to do with time  
  
travel."  
  
"Sources?"  
  
"If that's true, you will get along just fine with your new  
  
partner." Starkweather replied not missing a beat. "Were  
  
you informed of the type of cases your division  
  
investigates?"  
  
"If I understand it correctly, the X-Files Division deals  
  
with paranormal and unexplained phenomena." Fuller recited.  
  
"But I didn't think the FBI investigated those kinds of  
  
cases."  
  
"I wasn't aware that the government backed time-travel  
  
experiments either" Starkweather returned with a sly grin.  
  
"Come with me, and I'll show you to your new office. Sorry  
  
I don't have much time to acquaint you with the building,  
  
but I have a flight out to New Mexico on personal business  
  
that leaves in an hour."  
  
Agent Fuller nodded in understanding and followed her  
  
petite superior down the halls of the J Edgar Hoover  
  
building, and wondered why there were mile-long lines of  
  
tourists for office buildings.  
  
"...And this," her new boss said unlocking the door and  
  
handing her a lone key. "Is your office. I hope you'll find  
  
everything you need, Agent Fuller. Call me on my cell if  
  
you need to be in touch with me. If you'll excuse me, I  
  
have a flight to make. Sandy should be in shortly." With  
  
that, her new boss turned and left.  
  
The Agent glanced tentatively at her new surroundings. She  
  
saw a neatly kept office with two desks, and a huge filing  
  
cabinet. The occupied desk facing the door was neatly kept  
  
with photos of a small boy and a girl, her new boss and her  
  
boss's superior, a hazel-eyed man with peppering hair and a  
  
pretty, petite redhead holding a small redheaded boy  
  
standing next to him, next to him, a tall man with a wreath  
  
of white hair, a man with a neatly trimmed beard in a suit  
  
was next, then a shorter, balding, odd-looking man, then a  
  
tall, lanky man with blond stringy hair with thick glasses  
  
perched on his nose all posing uncomfortably around a  
  
Christmas tree. The nameplate on the desk read "A. Gallimore"  
  
The office itself looked like it was barely big enough for  
  
two people. There were rows of filing cabinets, all labeled  
  
"X-Files". There was barely walking space between two  
  
desks, but there were a couple of plants that made it look  
  
comfortable. The walls were sparsely decorated, with the  
  
exception of a yellowed and frayed poster with an obviously  
  
forged depiction of a flying saucer, proclaiming "I WANT TO  
  
BELIEVE." She took the empty desk closer to the door, and  
  
decided it was in her best interest to familiarize herself  
  
with the cases. She opened the "A" drawer and began  
  
reading.  
  
She was halfway through the contents of her first folder  
  
when there was a knock at the door.  
  
"Great, here comes Princess Leia." Fuller groaned, thinking  
  
it was her new boss, and put on her best professional  
  
smile. "Come in." She called out.  
  
Instead of her boss like she expected, a petite redhead  
  
with an FBI guest badge on her lapel. She didn't look up  
  
from the file until the woman spoke. "Ma'am, the senior  
  
partner isn't here yet. Let me redirect you. Just one…" She  
  
went over to the phone and saw that the woman was in the  
  
picture with the family.  
  
"Deputy Director Doggett asked me to come by and introduce  
  
myself and show you the ropes around here. Your senior  
  
officer isn't going to be able to come in till after  
  
lunch."  
  
She smiled apologetically and stood up, extending a hand in  
  
greeting. "I'm sorry ma'am," she flustered, "just doing  
  
some research."  
  
"So what do you think about UFO's after reading that file?"  
  
"To be perfectly honest, ma'am," Fuller answered carefully,  
  
"I'm not quite sure what to think. I am aware of what the  
  
founder of this division seems to believe is a conspiracy,  
  
geared towards covering up a plot of colonization. I need  
  
physical evidence to back that up before I concur."  
  
"Sounds too much like Star Wars?" the woman asked, her lips  
  
curling into a knowing smile.  
  
"There's no documented scientific evidence yet of the  
  
existence of extra terrestrials." At Fuller's answer, the  
  
woman raised a questioning eyebrow, and approached the  
  
desk.  
  
"Twenty years ago," Scully replied, crossing her arms. "I  
  
would have said the same thing. I used to be you, Agent..."  
  
Later on that day  
  
Quantum Leap Headquarters  
  
Roswell, New Mexico  
  
Al left the imaging chamber, rubbing his temple. Now THAT  
  
was one hell of a leap. One destined to go down in the  
  
record books, that was for sure. He looked at Fern "Easter"  
  
Mullens, the new Information and Technology Specialist who  
  
had been hired after Goushie's passing now about five years  
  
ago. "Let me know when Sam's in a new body," he said as he  
  
shuffled towards his office.  
  
"Yes sir," she said.  
  
Al had just sat down in his big comfortable chair when his  
  
phone rang. "I don't want any calls today. I don't care who  
  
it is."  
  
Tina said nervously. "Um... I don't think this person is  
  
going to go away, Al. She said that she made this  
  
appointment fifteen years ago?" Tina sounded completely  
  
and utterly flustered. "She says she's the Assistant  
  
Director for the FBI??"  
  
"I'll be right out," Al said, jumping out of his chair.  
  
Now, to Starkweather, Al looked exactly the same as he did  
  
when she saw him last. But to Al, she had changed,  
  
extraordinarily.  
  
She was still slender and youthful-looking. She still wore  
  
her uncompromising black business dress suits. However, she  
  
no longer had the deceptive guise of a teenager. There were  
  
one or two crow's feet by her hazel eyes. Her hair was no  
  
longer Rapunzel-long and dyed blonde, but shoulder length  
  
and dark brown. Only the gold wire eyeglasses and the few  
  
strands of silver at the temple of her hair betrayed her  
  
age of forty-four years.  
  
Her voice, however, was as strong and yet feminine as ever.  
  
"Admiral Calvaricci?" She still had that Sphinx-smile, that  
  
sense of mystery.  
  
"Agent Starkweather," Al said. "My, you've grown up."  
  
"With all due respect," her smile dissolved into the  
  
trademark Starkweather smirk. "it's Assistant Director  
  
Starkweather now." She held out her hand. As Al shook her  
  
right hand, he noted that her left hand no longer bore a  
  
wedding ring. "Well, Admiral, you said to look you up in  
  
fifteen years and you'd explain everything."  
  
Al clasped his other hand over hers. "Yes, yes I did...  
  
Assistant Director."  
  
"Funny, you don't look any more angelic as you did when I  
  
saw you last." Her eyes twinkled in delight. "I thought I  
  
was ready for the funny farm when you popped in, you know."  
  
"I know, I know," Al groaned. "And I'll explain everything  
  
to you."  
  
"Well... before you start... I'd like to have you meet some  
  
people first... you see... we figured out a lot of things  
  
on our own before coming here... but there's still some  
  
gaps."  
  
We?? Al wondered as he followed Starkweather to the outer  
  
waiting room.  
  
"I found him," Starkweather said to the man sitting on the  
  
couch, reading the newspaper.  
  
And Deputy Director John Doggett stood up. Still tall,  
  
still had those brilliant blue eyes, although he also wore  
  
eyeglasses now. Although he was lucky enough to have kept  
  
his hair, it had faded from it's coppery-yellow hue. He  
  
also now sported a neatly trimmed goatee. He was still a  
  
good-looking man, albeit it, obviously, an older man.  
  
Geez... he's got to be pushing sixty by now Al thought as  
  
he shook Doggett's hand.  
  
"Admiral," Doggett also still never shed that gravelly New  
  
York-Deep South hybrid accent. "Good to see you again...  
  
though I must confess, I really don't remember much of our  
  
first meetin'."  
  
"That's alright," Al said. "I'll remind you of every  
  
humiliating detail."  
  
"Oh good," Doggett deadpanned. "Kids, come here," he  
  
called.  
  
"Kids?" Al asked.  
  
A boy and a girl, both the same age, looking to be about  
  
twelve, left the television set they were avidly watching  
  
and joined the adults. "This is our son," Starkweather put  
  
her hand on the boy's shoulder. "John Benjamin."  
  
"Hi," the boy said brightly. And Al realized that he was  
  
looking at what Mulder must have looked like when he was a  
  
boy. A mop of unruly brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes. No  
  
trace of shyness whatsoever.  
  
"And this," Starkweather put her other hand on the girl's  
  
shoulder. "Is our daughter, Bailey Fox."  
  
"Mom, **please** don't tell strangers my middle name," she  
  
whispered, mortified. "It's embarrassing."  
  
Bailey was the spitting image of John Doggett. Same curly  
  
shiny blond hair, although she wore hers considerably  
  
longer than her father. Same brilliant piercing blue eyes.  
  
She even spoke with the barest trace of a Southern accent.  
  
"Looks like you two have some things to tell me too," Al  
  
said. "Ziggy left some things out in her diagnogstics."  
  
"Ziggy?" Starkweather crinkled her brow in confusion.  
  
Al companionably put his arm through Starkweather's. "I'll  
  
explain... let me give you a tour."  
  
When they got to the "holding" chamber, they all stopped.  
  
"Is this??" Starkweather started to ask, but stopped.  
  
Al answered her unasked question. "Yes. Sam's body is in  
  
there, but not Sam's soul. Sam hasn't found someone to  
  
switch souls with yet, so the body is in suspended  
  
animation, so to speak."  
  
Doggett was looking around. "Some of this looks familiar."  
  
"I wouldn't have believed this if I wasn't here right now,"  
  
Bailey said.  
  
John Benjamin aka JB scoffed at his twin sister "You never  
  
believe anything until you see it anyways. You're worse  
  
than Aunt Dana."  
  
"Gang," Doggett said in his quiet authorative tone--the same  
  
one he used for wayward agents, "zip it." The twins  
  
immediately fell silent.  
  
While everyone else hung back, Starkweather walked up to  
  
the two-way mirror, that Doggett-in-Sam had broken days  
  
ago. It was repaired now. Starkweather looked through the  
  
glass and saw a handsome man with sandy-brown hair with one  
  
lock gone gray.  
  
Starkweather put her hand on the glass. "Thank you Sam...."  
  
she whispered before Al led her away to explain the past to  
  
her and her family.  
  
**THE END** 


End file.
